I'm sippin' on a Four Loko with my homies and I thought I should go ahead and crap out one more post before the New Year is upon us, even though it's upon many of you in other parts of the globe.
I went on my last run of 2010 today and it was a balmy 55 degrees so I decided to do said activity sans shirt. This always invites heckling and I'm down with that. The first line I got was a very sarcastic and morose "Happy New Year," from some schlub. But that's cool. As always I don't know why my goofy shirtless figure inspires ire and slightly more mild derogatory responses but it does. Anyway, I don't let that ruffle me, and I talk about that shit more than enough in here. And plenty of folks gave me horn honks and smiles, so I'll take it.
There were some other bits and pieces I meant to go about discussing here but man, I am getting rapidly lokoed and I've got other business to attend to. Shout outs to all of my WesTech homies who made it out to the Chi and shout out to all of my WesTech homies that could not and shiiiiiiiiiiit all my other homies and family folks as well.
So have a safe and happy New Year celebration all. Dress like an asshole (I will, and always do), get down, do your thing, this holiday is no big deal, but yeah, make it count. Dave Matthews it up, because it's not where but who you're with that really matters.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
The House [in which] YouTube Was Built
My time in California is about to draw to a close but I want to thank it for a jolly good Christmas. I thought it would be nice to get a post in while situated in the locale where much of YouTube was developed. I will not give this place a name (which I initially typed as name a place) because I like certain vagaries and anonymity to things, especially in this ever-expanding creepy universe of everyone knowing seemingly everything about everyone. Diminished privacy would be the Cliff's Notes way of putting it. What I like about this place, aside from being a vaguely charming independent coffee house with tasty coffee and treats, is that within its bounds very much of what is used on the internet these days was developed here. Yes, these people work, and have worked for, a broad range of companies, and it is an extraordinarily small community that completed the bulk of what the bulk of folks are using these days.
It's not that I'm trying to make this seem cool and exclusive, because this is just a regular shop that a crapton of people come into. The anonymity of the folks who are behind-the-scenes is what I would like to preserve. I am not sure the view that many people have of programmers/computer engineers, but for many of them the interest is in solving a problem, improving efficiency and the like. And all along the way there are bunch of really cool things created that most of us don't even realize are out there. I like to think of myself as moderately technically proficient; I am not whiz, but I can get by. One of the nifty little tools I came across just the other day is in Google Labs. This little thing lets you search the frequency of a word or words over a period of time (you can set these and other parameters). Google has uploaded at this time, I believe, roughly fifteen million texts (and by that I mean books) in several different languages. Your searches, then, are run through all of the words that have been uploaded. It's kind of a fun thing to play around with.
The other night I was viewing the roast of Frank Sinatra. It is pretty great if you have a chance to check it out, even if some of the jokes are dated. What I mean by that is only that they reference certain things relevant to that time period and the years prior which I did not witness and continue to be unaware of. One thing I did note, though, was what I deem an uncanny resemblance between comedian Milton Berle and strange ad/marketing production Noid from 80s Domino's pizza advertising. You will see both of them below.
Without having said much of anything, I think this is a good place at which to call it. Hope you all had delightful holiday breaks there and have prepped your livers for some good living on New Year's Eve and beyond.
It's not that I'm trying to make this seem cool and exclusive, because this is just a regular shop that a crapton of people come into. The anonymity of the folks who are behind-the-scenes is what I would like to preserve. I am not sure the view that many people have of programmers/computer engineers, but for many of them the interest is in solving a problem, improving efficiency and the like. And all along the way there are bunch of really cool things created that most of us don't even realize are out there. I like to think of myself as moderately technically proficient; I am not whiz, but I can get by. One of the nifty little tools I came across just the other day is in Google Labs. This little thing lets you search the frequency of a word or words over a period of time (you can set these and other parameters). Google has uploaded at this time, I believe, roughly fifteen million texts (and by that I mean books) in several different languages. Your searches, then, are run through all of the words that have been uploaded. It's kind of a fun thing to play around with.
The other night I was viewing the roast of Frank Sinatra. It is pretty great if you have a chance to check it out, even if some of the jokes are dated. What I mean by that is only that they reference certain things relevant to that time period and the years prior which I did not witness and continue to be unaware of. One thing I did note, though, was what I deem an uncanny resemblance between comedian Milton Berle and strange ad/marketing production Noid from 80s Domino's pizza advertising. You will see both of them below.
 |  |
Without having said much of anything, I think this is a good place at which to call it. Hope you all had delightful holiday breaks there and have prepped your livers for some good living on New Year's Eve and beyond.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Santa Clause
This one is written in the American Constitution, but not that old weathered document from 1787, the one that declares Christmas is a shopping holiday and not the celebration of the birth of the Jesus Christ character. Religion studies are not my strong point, but then neither is Santa Claus lore. Thanks to the internet, though, you can check out all of his evolution on the linkety-link back there. It's really rather fascinating stuff to poke around in. A lot of us take for granted a whole lot these days, like for instance this internet I am using right here. I believe it is proper grammatical technique to capitalize the word "internet" but I am not down with that because I don't think it's as properly proper as has been proffered by the Merriam's, Websters, and the like. But yeah, for granted, I don't know about you fools but I never really considered where in the heck Old St. Nick came from. I have my doubts as to whether he was a tubbledy man from the North Pole who dressed in red velvet with white trim. The idea of someone sitting down and concocting such a character then seems to line up pretty well with advertising. If I had to do my college thesis over, I might very well analyze the origins of Santa Claus.
This is how I best like to picture Santa.
Of course, there is the possibility that Santa was not always as rotund as he has become. After all he is consuming, milk, eggnog, and lots and lots of cookies. If you believe that he has a fantastic metabolism even at hundreds or thousands of years old, then he may very well be lactose intolerant and horrendously bloated as a result of these alleged dairy gifts. That, and he should be a diabetic. But with my half-Jew faith and half-celebration of Christmas, I never was one of the kids headed to the department store to take a stint on Santa's lap.
This year, though, I had the pleasure, and while Christmas has helped perpetuate, if not spawn, some terribly spoiled individuals, it has also helped foster some simple joys and cheer. Kids look happy as shit to meet Santa, and let's not forget the tree. I mean that and the snow, and the way department stores decorate shit, it looks pretty. And without doing any research as to why The Nutcracker has become a Christmas tradition, I will say that it is one I love. I guess a good reason for it to be performed at Christmas is that the play is set during Christmas. It's really all about the score from my boy Tchaikovsky. It's more than just good music to play Tetris to.
There really is a whole hell of a lot to go over when it comes to Christmas: the love/hate relationship with the music, the showing of Gone With the Wind (which I have still never seen), stockings...So what I'm getting at is that this post is far from complete, and there is surely more to come in inane Christmas commentary. But should I not get to it before the holiday comes upon us, consider this the Happy Christmas post. And there I've gone and forgotten all about Chanukah, my primary holiday, which has come and gone.
Anyway, I hear next year for Chanukah they will offer a Womenorah, in addition to the traditional Menorah, in the name of gender equality.
Of course, there is the possibility that Santa was not always as rotund as he has become. After all he is consuming, milk, eggnog, and lots and lots of cookies. If you believe that he has a fantastic metabolism even at hundreds or thousands of years old, then he may very well be lactose intolerant and horrendously bloated as a result of these alleged dairy gifts. That, and he should be a diabetic. But with my half-Jew faith and half-celebration of Christmas, I never was one of the kids headed to the department store to take a stint on Santa's lap.
This year, though, I had the pleasure, and while Christmas has helped perpetuate, if not spawn, some terribly spoiled individuals, it has also helped foster some simple joys and cheer. Kids look happy as shit to meet Santa, and let's not forget the tree. I mean that and the snow, and the way department stores decorate shit, it looks pretty. And without doing any research as to why The Nutcracker has become a Christmas tradition, I will say that it is one I love. I guess a good reason for it to be performed at Christmas is that the play is set during Christmas. It's really all about the score from my boy Tchaikovsky. It's more than just good music to play Tetris to.
There really is a whole hell of a lot to go over when it comes to Christmas: the love/hate relationship with the music, the showing of Gone With the Wind (which I have still never seen), stockings...So what I'm getting at is that this post is far from complete, and there is surely more to come in inane Christmas commentary. But should I not get to it before the holiday comes upon us, consider this the Happy Christmas post. And there I've gone and forgotten all about Chanukah, my primary holiday, which has come and gone.
Anyway, I hear next year for Chanukah they will offer a Womenorah, in addition to the traditional Menorah, in the name of gender equality.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
I'm Not a Blogger...
I just post a lot. That's got to be one of my all-time favorite go-tos on the quick parody front. Sometimes my brain is so tuned into pop culture it frightens me but then I will read an excerpt of someone like Chuck Klosterman or any of the many accomplished blogger/journalists that write for popular sites these days and realize I keep it at a much safer distance than some. Whenever I read them I have to wonder how many people get all of the included references. Sometimes it makes me feel a little bit uninformed (a cover word for dumb) and others I could care less.
It's a pretty cold bastard lately and the shortening of days isn't helping. That and a bum foot have made me quite lazy indeed, the irony being that lack of activity seems to make my achey old man's body feel worse. Standard writing rules tell you not to use "being that." Moving a sentence back, I suppose this isn't as by the numbers as irony goes, but it's better than a lot of the things people seem to offer up for irony, where the only true irony is their suggesiont that it is irony at all. This is where I am supposed to provide an example.
Many say that to err is human, and I do not disagree, but to complain seems to be even more human. I wonder if this is an original component of the human condition or if it is resulting and somewhat predicated upon what our lives have become. I am not the first to entertain the idea, as I find it implicit in the concept that money cannot buy happiness as well as in the consistent theme that has emerged in much modern writing, fiction and non, that so many of us are so privileged and yet unsatisfied and ADD. This goes beyond simple cash flow.
I have to step back to Klosterman quickly because I think that if you read that sentence it comes across as a dig. It's not. I haven't read much of Klosterman, but some of the snippets I have are, well, really good. If there is something I don't like about Klosterman, it's mostly myself. See, he's clever and well-written (I'd say spoken, but I've never heard him speak), and on some level, though it's less now than it might have been at one time, I'm a little jealous of that. It's this little inherent rivalry thing that a lot of human beings feel that I wish I didn't. I've seen people do it to me and the reason I can recognize it is because I know I've entertained if not acted upon it myself. The good thing is that when other people attack others out of simple jealousy it reminds me not to do that. Of course, if they point out their knowledge of such jealousy and cite it as the reason for their dislike, it can end up endearing me to them. Because, I don't know about you, but I like when people have flaws. It makes them human. Remember that bit about to err? As a rule, you kind of wait for those perfect people to trip up. Maybe you are not in that universal you. If so, good for you. I have a tendency to say "maybe" a lot. The counter, to an extent, of those perfect folks you loathe are the ones who, for some other inexplicable reason, you completely love the shit out of and perhaps aspire to attain the sort of effortless perfection they project. Speaking of, I may be doing just that here, projecting, exhibiting a small segment of human condition that applies to me and a minority, rather than the human condition. Do you ever get it all in one?
So then it is that I like the analysis I have seen tiny parts of from Klosterman, and yet sad how much popular culture shapes us, and simultaneously intrigued by the way it unites us and uh, this is also simultaneous, separates us from those who do not have those same memories. It's inter-generational. And I envy the people who have led these pure, or what I consider pure, existences away from television and dumb shit (by some arbitrary definition for "dumb shit"). Sometimes I can see why David Foster Wallace had trouble sticking around, you know? And I'm not a quarter as smart. Anyway, if you read this far, congratulations? Next time, less seriousness, more jokes or joke attempts.
I am glad I am listening to music because, based on body language, I hate the people sitting near me. Thankfully two of them just got up and have been replaced by two girls eating macarons. And you know what they say, "two macarons make it right." I think this positions me well to go home and watch last night's Gossip Girl.
Cheers bitches.
It's a pretty cold bastard lately and the shortening of days isn't helping. That and a bum foot have made me quite lazy indeed, the irony being that lack of activity seems to make my achey old man's body feel worse. Standard writing rules tell you not to use "being that." Moving a sentence back, I suppose this isn't as by the numbers as irony goes, but it's better than a lot of the things people seem to offer up for irony, where the only true irony is their suggesiont that it is irony at all. This is where I am supposed to provide an example.
Many say that to err is human, and I do not disagree, but to complain seems to be even more human. I wonder if this is an original component of the human condition or if it is resulting and somewhat predicated upon what our lives have become. I am not the first to entertain the idea, as I find it implicit in the concept that money cannot buy happiness as well as in the consistent theme that has emerged in much modern writing, fiction and non, that so many of us are so privileged and yet unsatisfied and ADD. This goes beyond simple cash flow.
I have to step back to Klosterman quickly because I think that if you read that sentence it comes across as a dig. It's not. I haven't read much of Klosterman, but some of the snippets I have are, well, really good. If there is something I don't like about Klosterman, it's mostly myself. See, he's clever and well-written (I'd say spoken, but I've never heard him speak), and on some level, though it's less now than it might have been at one time, I'm a little jealous of that. It's this little inherent rivalry thing that a lot of human beings feel that I wish I didn't. I've seen people do it to me and the reason I can recognize it is because I know I've entertained if not acted upon it myself. The good thing is that when other people attack others out of simple jealousy it reminds me not to do that. Of course, if they point out their knowledge of such jealousy and cite it as the reason for their dislike, it can end up endearing me to them. Because, I don't know about you, but I like when people have flaws. It makes them human. Remember that bit about to err? As a rule, you kind of wait for those perfect people to trip up. Maybe you are not in that universal you. If so, good for you. I have a tendency to say "maybe" a lot. The counter, to an extent, of those perfect folks you loathe are the ones who, for some other inexplicable reason, you completely love the shit out of and perhaps aspire to attain the sort of effortless perfection they project. Speaking of, I may be doing just that here, projecting, exhibiting a small segment of human condition that applies to me and a minority, rather than the human condition. Do you ever get it all in one?
So then it is that I like the analysis I have seen tiny parts of from Klosterman, and yet sad how much popular culture shapes us, and simultaneously intrigued by the way it unites us and uh, this is also simultaneous, separates us from those who do not have those same memories. It's inter-generational. And I envy the people who have led these pure, or what I consider pure, existences away from television and dumb shit (by some arbitrary definition for "dumb shit"). Sometimes I can see why David Foster Wallace had trouble sticking around, you know? And I'm not a quarter as smart. Anyway, if you read this far, congratulations? Next time, less seriousness, more jokes or joke attempts.
I am glad I am listening to music because, based on body language, I hate the people sitting near me. Thankfully two of them just got up and have been replaced by two girls eating macarons. And you know what they say, "two macarons make it right." I think this positions me well to go home and watch last night's Gossip Girl.
Cheers bitches.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
The Blog Days Are Over
Back-to-back bloggin' days is rather uncharted territory for my ass these days, but it's happening. And even though I can't be sure my titles ever make any semblance of sense, this one certainly doesn't as the blog days are continuing as I type along here. So why am I back? So I can shout out the east coast, my place of birth and much of my life development. It's been largely good to me but the more I think of it the more I think I'll be making a long-ish goodbye. Not permanent, but certainly for a lengthy period. I was happy to see folks in Jersey, New York, and in Mass (also en masse), but the bulk of the humanoids with whom I did not have a pre-existing relationship ended up leaving me largely cold. No, it was not just the temperatures, because it's nut-bitingly cold here back in the Chi which means I am speaking in one of those what you might call metaphors. It is not as if the temperature of my body actually dropped upon interacting with these folks.
In other metaphors, my legs and feet are motherfuckers. I reference this a little too frequently I feel, and the fact is I've no idea what the legs of others are like, so I am in many ways unqualified for commentary. I will just say that I hope this is not what other peoples' legs and feet feel like. While it's been a hell of a long time, I can still remember when my shit was normal, and by shit I mean feet and legs. I am clarifying as I have quite the penchant for discussion of poo. It used to be if those bastards hurt, not how much. I will direct the rest of this rant to my yet-to-be-purchased web domain: www.quitchabitchin.com.
In non-metaphors I just ate two really unsatisfying big cookies. I wish they had been soft, or I had had some milk for dunking. This, I am sure, would have taken care of much of the hardness issue. I am thinking I am going to engage in devoid-of-sweets-December. Yeah, I love the shit out of sweets, but I'd like to keep my type two diabetes jokes as jokes. Really though I just want a glass of milk. The rat-tail, much to the disappointment of my loved ones, is likely to remain.
And this right here, folks, is a perfect reminder of why I do not blog daily: it gets to getting an awful lot like a dear diary and, well, there are diaries for that. Between that and concluding this post, I did take in the Victoria's Secret Fashion show. It didn't quite have the magic of 2009, but it was still damn good. I want to say it will improve your life, man, woman, and child, but it may give all unrealistic expectations on what humans look like.
And lest I go an entire entry without including an outside link I exit on an exposé of the wonderfully corrupt world of higher education or, I should say hire education. L-ooooooooooh-feckin'-elle.
In other metaphors, my legs and feet are motherfuckers. I reference this a little too frequently I feel, and the fact is I've no idea what the legs of others are like, so I am in many ways unqualified for commentary. I will just say that I hope this is not what other peoples' legs and feet feel like. While it's been a hell of a long time, I can still remember when my shit was normal, and by shit I mean feet and legs. I am clarifying as I have quite the penchant for discussion of poo. It used to be if those bastards hurt, not how much. I will direct the rest of this rant to my yet-to-be-purchased web domain: www.quitchabitchin.com.
In non-metaphors I just ate two really unsatisfying big cookies. I wish they had been soft, or I had had some milk for dunking. This, I am sure, would have taken care of much of the hardness issue. I am thinking I am going to engage in devoid-of-sweets-December. Yeah, I love the shit out of sweets, but I'd like to keep my type two diabetes jokes as jokes. Really though I just want a glass of milk. The rat-tail, much to the disappointment of my loved ones, is likely to remain.
And this right here, folks, is a perfect reminder of why I do not blog daily: it gets to getting an awful lot like a dear diary and, well, there are diaries for that. Between that and concluding this post, I did take in the Victoria's Secret Fashion show. It didn't quite have the magic of 2009, but it was still damn good. I want to say it will improve your life, man, woman, and child, but it may give all unrealistic expectations on what humans look like.
And lest I go an entire entry without including an outside link I exit on an exposé of the wonderfully corrupt world of higher education or, I should say hire education. L-ooooooooooh-feckin'-elle.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The 200
Yes, it's just like that movie 300, only a hundred less. So 200, right, it is the number of entries I have reached in this here blog. I like to think it's been a good ride, but as I only got cranking here in the middle of 2007, it's hardly worth reminiscing about all of the good times we've had. I mean, I had to use "good" twice in that last sentence, so while I might like to think things have come a long way, that is not the case. Plus, it's my own damn blog so I will tend to be biased. There are things in here I think are absolute doo-doo, and things I think are sort of worth reading and viewing — so long as you have a lot of free time and nothing better to do.
As I write this I am taking a break from a fiendish writing spree that, hours earlier, resulted in something I was working on taking a calamitous turn for the inconsistent. This is how my brain goes when I try to adopt different voices. That's why having this blog is fun — for me — it's a catalog of how I did write, how I do write, how I might write. And we write differently (at least I do) depending on all manner of context I really won't get into right now. Part of the reason for that is that I cannot possibly hope to cover all of the variables and, it may prove fiendishly boring. It appears I have fiends on the mind.
Another thing I have on the mind is tonight's Victoria's Secret Fashion Show (yes, I am aware it received heavy billing in my last post). I'm not actually going to watch it tonight, but my DVR is really excited. If it is half as good as last year's, I expect about a dozen viewings.
To truly celebrate 200, I should probably go and include a little more of my classically annoying wordplay and non-sequitur references. Editor's note: I was never much of one for that comic strip but still I remember it being in the Sunday comics before I even knew what a non-sequitur was. I still wonder if I have a full understanding of it, right along with dialectic (the most over-used term in my Sophomore seminar that I took, fittingly, as Junior), and well I can't think of another word that I know the meaning of but still feel a little nervous using like someone will know I used it wrong. That's why I don't like to force words. I did once confuse prolific and profound, going so far as to caption a photo I judged profound as "prolific." A girl then asked me if I meant "profound," when she embarrassingly found the photo on my computer. I should change that sentence because the modifier makes it seem she was embarrassed to find it, when it was I who was embarrassed she found it. It's ironic of me to have made an error like that when pointing out a past error except that since I am aware and now noting it, I suppose the irony has been stripped. I still think that photo produced plenty of...whatever. But I'm glad I eff up like that, it keeps you humble. And by you, I of course mean me.
And on that relatively lackluster note, I would like to thank myself for continuing to write in this blog despite no readers and no real topics or subject matter. If loving and thanking yourself isn't the definition of humble well, I just don't know what is! Happy end of November you s-and-d-o-b's. In honor of a band I used to listen to and a neighborhood I used to live near, I welcome my December.
As I write this I am taking a break from a fiendish writing spree that, hours earlier, resulted in something I was working on taking a calamitous turn for the inconsistent. This is how my brain goes when I try to adopt different voices. That's why having this blog is fun — for me — it's a catalog of how I did write, how I do write, how I might write. And we write differently (at least I do) depending on all manner of context I really won't get into right now. Part of the reason for that is that I cannot possibly hope to cover all of the variables and, it may prove fiendishly boring. It appears I have fiends on the mind.
Another thing I have on the mind is tonight's Victoria's Secret Fashion Show (yes, I am aware it received heavy billing in my last post). I'm not actually going to watch it tonight, but my DVR is really excited. If it is half as good as last year's, I expect about a dozen viewings.
To truly celebrate 200, I should probably go and include a little more of my classically annoying wordplay and non-sequitur references. Editor's note: I was never much of one for that comic strip but still I remember it being in the Sunday comics before I even knew what a non-sequitur was. I still wonder if I have a full understanding of it, right along with dialectic (the most over-used term in my Sophomore seminar that I took, fittingly, as Junior), and well I can't think of another word that I know the meaning of but still feel a little nervous using like someone will know I used it wrong. That's why I don't like to force words. I did once confuse prolific and profound, going so far as to caption a photo I judged profound as "prolific." A girl then asked me if I meant "profound," when she embarrassingly found the photo on my computer. I should change that sentence because the modifier makes it seem she was embarrassed to find it, when it was I who was embarrassed she found it. It's ironic of me to have made an error like that when pointing out a past error except that since I am aware and now noting it, I suppose the irony has been stripped. I still think that photo produced plenty of...whatever. But I'm glad I eff up like that, it keeps you humble. And by you, I of course mean me.
And on that relatively lackluster note, I would like to thank myself for continuing to write in this blog despite no readers and no real topics or subject matter. If loving and thanking yourself isn't the definition of humble well, I just don't know what is! Happy end of November you s-and-d-o-b's. In honor of a band I used to listen to and a neighborhood I used to live near, I welcome my December.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Cranksgiving
Something wicked is afoot, and it might very well be my own, foot that is. If that darn thing decided to break again I would be rather bummed. But enough about me, I think I got a little ranty/preachy a post or two ago, and everything's really rather peachy. Okay, and now for some more about me. I was on the internet just now, seeing what all had happened at the state cross country meet in the state I grew up in because I'm nerdly like that, and gosh, those kids are awfully good at running. It has been a decade, but to say they would kick my ass seems an understatement. But nearly as intriguing to me, was one of the photos I noted in the sidebar to the newspaper article I was leafing through (technically, I was scrolling). Said photo is featured below:
Now, is that girl pinching the jaw of the other? Yes, it's like a minor skull-crusher, how absurd. Actually, the touch has a delicate look to it, as if she might be trying to get an eyelash off her cheek. I'm sure that was it. Her teammate on the left is carrying out a rather self-explanatory easily riffed upon mock sexual act. We're tough in Jersey. I'm not, but I threw my share of elbows and pushed and shoved when necessary. I sometimes forget the rage of competition. It's kind of raw and exciting.
What I really came here to do is rattle off a bit on my favorite holiday: Thanksgiving. Cranksgiving, not so much, as I'm anything but cranky this time of year. Actually, that is not entirely true, given the state of my foot. But I will be excited to visit the east coast and this region we call New England. Even though I grew up there it retains a sort of mystical quality. Perhaps it is because I grew up there. At any rate it will be good to return and briefly live the fantasy of my own quaint New England home, teaching writing to undergrads and such, sipping bourbon and whiskey when the weather gets the chill it has now. Maybe a fireplace or something. These are good as fantasies because, as much as I don't know whether I shall attain them, I am not sure either that I would really want to. The allure of a simple life is alluring many times until we have it.
But like, this holiday is about what we're thankful for right? Because we fabricated a story about how well some settlers got along with some natives as the weather turned brisk 380 or more years ago (I forget the date of the first Thanksgiving and am not going to look it up and let's face it, as I said, it's largely fabricated) and like, that relates to things to be thankful for right? Good thing we slaughtered those natives, there'd be no USA. I know I'm thankful for that. But in all seriousness, if the day is an excuse to bring my family together and eat some delicious food and just kick it and hang out, I can sort of deal with the facetious tales of origin. If it weren't for photos, I might not even believe Abe Lincoln had a beard. And I've never seen any photographic evidence of buckle-hatted rifle-toters dining avec some Native Americans, aka NAs, aka not applicable.
Tangents, I love 'em. I go off on them and I can't tell you why, but again, back to this holiday. I'm just gonna say go and have yourself a great one, whether you're reading or not. I can only wish that each and every one of you has a group of blood family or adoptive family, as friends really can become, to spend the holiday with. It's the hope to be with the humans you value the most on that day. As I get older and cheesier, this is driven home to me more and more. So I'm rambling, and sure it's my blog, but even I can get sick of my own shit, so happy holiday to you and yours, ya turkeys. Leave room for pie.
Now, is that girl pinching the jaw of the other? Yes, it's like a minor skull-crusher, how absurd. Actually, the touch has a delicate look to it, as if she might be trying to get an eyelash off her cheek. I'm sure that was it. Her teammate on the left is carrying out a rather self-explanatory easily riffed upon mock sexual act. We're tough in Jersey. I'm not, but I threw my share of elbows and pushed and shoved when necessary. I sometimes forget the rage of competition. It's kind of raw and exciting.
What I really came here to do is rattle off a bit on my favorite holiday: Thanksgiving. Cranksgiving, not so much, as I'm anything but cranky this time of year. Actually, that is not entirely true, given the state of my foot. But I will be excited to visit the east coast and this region we call New England. Even though I grew up there it retains a sort of mystical quality. Perhaps it is because I grew up there. At any rate it will be good to return and briefly live the fantasy of my own quaint New England home, teaching writing to undergrads and such, sipping bourbon and whiskey when the weather gets the chill it has now. Maybe a fireplace or something. These are good as fantasies because, as much as I don't know whether I shall attain them, I am not sure either that I would really want to. The allure of a simple life is alluring many times until we have it.
But like, this holiday is about what we're thankful for right? Because we fabricated a story about how well some settlers got along with some natives as the weather turned brisk 380 or more years ago (I forget the date of the first Thanksgiving and am not going to look it up and let's face it, as I said, it's largely fabricated) and like, that relates to things to be thankful for right? Good thing we slaughtered those natives, there'd be no USA. I know I'm thankful for that. But in all seriousness, if the day is an excuse to bring my family together and eat some delicious food and just kick it and hang out, I can sort of deal with the facetious tales of origin. If it weren't for photos, I might not even believe Abe Lincoln had a beard. And I've never seen any photographic evidence of buckle-hatted rifle-toters dining avec some Native Americans, aka NAs, aka not applicable.
Tangents, I love 'em. I go off on them and I can't tell you why, but again, back to this holiday. I'm just gonna say go and have yourself a great one, whether you're reading or not. I can only wish that each and every one of you has a group of blood family or adoptive family, as friends really can become, to spend the holiday with. It's the hope to be with the humans you value the most on that day. As I get older and cheesier, this is driven home to me more and more. So I'm rambling, and sure it's my blog, but even I can get sick of my own shit, so happy holiday to you and yours, ya turkeys. Leave room for pie.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Strong Enough for a Man
Ah Victoria's Secret (those are two separate links there guys, and gals, hehe). Yes, I just said hehe, but what the Hell? It's true that the image below is more like what I'm really getting at. With filming of the show completed (knowledge I have thanks to intel from my buddy Tom) I am pretty excited for the November 30th launch. Finally, something to look forward to after Thanksgiving, which is quite close to the highlight of my year. Food, family, and fecundity. I don't know why I picked that last word other than it makes for a third "f" and there is a rule of three. It could be vaguely relevant to the holiday. Anyway, back to Vicky's S.
Here's my favorite image from last year's show:
The thing is I'd never actually watched before last year and after reviewing past footage it appears I picked the right moment to decide to engage in viewership.
As the weather is nice I am about to embark on a run before daylight fades. Sometimes it's daylight savings, and sometimes it's daylight spendings. So I'll head out in my short-short shorts, comfortable in the knowledge that Henry Rollins wore shorter while performing. You perhaps get away with more when you have Henry's rep which, of course, is a mixed bag.
Speaking of mixed bags, or at least mixed nuts, I will relay the following. Back from a run and having forgot to hit "publish" I found this entry staring at me when I opened my computer. On my way I walked down the street shoveling bits of steak and lettuce into my mouth, the remnants of a delightful but structurally unsound carne asada torta. As I approached a crosswalk, I was asked by a woman of questionable chemical balance if I "would like to see Communism." Without waiting for a response, this woman directed me to the crosswalk lines which were not straight, but on an angle. I was tempted to respond that it depends what angle you're looking at them from, but I don't like to stir up too much trouble. Besides, she had a point, they'd repainted the line in an oddly-angled manner. Those reds...
Edit: taking this opportunity to drum up early excitement for it to be 11:11 on 11/11/11 in a year. It'll even happen twice. Save up those wishes fishes.
Here's my favorite image from last year's show:
The thing is I'd never actually watched before last year and after reviewing past footage it appears I picked the right moment to decide to engage in viewership.
As the weather is nice I am about to embark on a run before daylight fades. Sometimes it's daylight savings, and sometimes it's daylight spendings. So I'll head out in my short-short shorts, comfortable in the knowledge that Henry Rollins wore shorter while performing. You perhaps get away with more when you have Henry's rep which, of course, is a mixed bag.
Speaking of mixed bags, or at least mixed nuts, I will relay the following. Back from a run and having forgot to hit "publish" I found this entry staring at me when I opened my computer. On my way I walked down the street shoveling bits of steak and lettuce into my mouth, the remnants of a delightful but structurally unsound carne asada torta. As I approached a crosswalk, I was asked by a woman of questionable chemical balance if I "would like to see Communism." Without waiting for a response, this woman directed me to the crosswalk lines which were not straight, but on an angle. I was tempted to respond that it depends what angle you're looking at them from, but I don't like to stir up too much trouble. Besides, she had a point, they'd repainted the line in an oddly-angled manner. Those reds...
Edit: taking this opportunity to drum up early excitement for it to be 11:11 on 11/11/11 in a year. It'll even happen twice. Save up those wishes fishes.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Cold November
Not rain, though that is a supremely awesome song, just cold. And actually, it's not that cold. My memory never even seems to go back a year when it comes to weather, so I can't say whether this weather is cooler than last year at this time or not. But when it comes on suddenly like last night and today, it tends to be more of a shock.
There's a time and place for the chilly weather though, at least for me, and that place is the middle of nowhere. No, honestly, I like it to be chilly for a little while. Sweaters, winter jackets, sweatpants, seeing your breath when you step outside...These things are nice. There are also fires and hot cocoa. But add in the short days and it ends up lasting too long. When the clocks fall back this Sunday, good lord, it's going to be dark before 5pm.
I didn't really do any of those things aside from sitting in sweats (I suppose I was wearing a sweater earlier) and was a bit antithetical in eating ice cream, but did at least sit in front of the boob tube as I attempted to remedy the health of my body. Viewing the latest two episodes of Gossip Girl may not have been quite the proper prescription, but they really brought it home in the closing minutes. I wish I could embed this video for you, but trust me that it is worth the click. They may have gone over budget and, as a result, had to use a toddler to do the final editing. Now hey, I am not saying I could do a better job, but it really depends on whether or not you want to induce seizures.
Anyway, I think I shall retire for the moment. Welcome to November, a few days late. Where has the year gone?
There's a time and place for the chilly weather though, at least for me, and that place is the middle of nowhere. No, honestly, I like it to be chilly for a little while. Sweaters, winter jackets, sweatpants, seeing your breath when you step outside...These things are nice. There are also fires and hot cocoa. But add in the short days and it ends up lasting too long. When the clocks fall back this Sunday, good lord, it's going to be dark before 5pm.
I didn't really do any of those things aside from sitting in sweats (I suppose I was wearing a sweater earlier) and was a bit antithetical in eating ice cream, but did at least sit in front of the boob tube as I attempted to remedy the health of my body. Viewing the latest two episodes of Gossip Girl may not have been quite the proper prescription, but they really brought it home in the closing minutes. I wish I could embed this video for you, but trust me that it is worth the click. They may have gone over budget and, as a result, had to use a toddler to do the final editing. Now hey, I am not saying I could do a better job, but it really depends on whether or not you want to induce seizures.
Anyway, I think I shall retire for the moment. Welcome to November, a few days late. Where has the year gone?
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Hallowmean
I figured it was highly likely I named a post this very thing in the past, a suspicion confirmed after a minimalist effort of back searching. Of course, I didn't bother to read the content of said post, so this may be an experiment in redundancy. Knowing my own pun penchant, I am sure I either declared Halloween average or some other celebrators of the holiday unkind. This year, neither could be said, as the events surrounding this year's Halloween have been quite enjoyable.
Of course, today is the actual day, yet I found myself surprised to see trick-or-treaters out on the street as I headed out for a bit of a jaunt earlier. Because there is so much build-up, Halloween could have been any number of days ago. And while I considered last night to be the pinnacle of adult celebration of the holiday, not everyone has to work on Monday. In a bold and frightening move, a local bar is putting on one Hell of an event and offering free Four Loko. With all of the press there has been on the dangers of this beverage of late, somebody is bound to get pretty damaged tonight. In a rare intelligent decision, I will not be a potential victim.
One of these days they'll need to go ahead and make this party more than once a year. People love to get dressed up, but tend to feel as if they need an excuse. Why should that excuse be but once a year? I must say as well that the aftermath is quite enjoyable. As I walked the streets this morning half costumed, the responses, positive and negative, were highly enjoyable. One individual decided to apprise me of the fact that my legs are very hairy. These comments are always wonderful to me because, having lived my entire life with me, and other humans, I manage to be quite cognizant of my relative hairiness. This is not to mention this own man's hideous existence.
At this moment I feel as if I had much more to say but, if so, it's eluding me. Should these facts or stories which I wished to relay miraculously appear, I shall make mention. In the meantime, sleep sounds good.
Of course, today is the actual day, yet I found myself surprised to see trick-or-treaters out on the street as I headed out for a bit of a jaunt earlier. Because there is so much build-up, Halloween could have been any number of days ago. And while I considered last night to be the pinnacle of adult celebration of the holiday, not everyone has to work on Monday. In a bold and frightening move, a local bar is putting on one Hell of an event and offering free Four Loko. With all of the press there has been on the dangers of this beverage of late, somebody is bound to get pretty damaged tonight. In a rare intelligent decision, I will not be a potential victim.
One of these days they'll need to go ahead and make this party more than once a year. People love to get dressed up, but tend to feel as if they need an excuse. Why should that excuse be but once a year? I must say as well that the aftermath is quite enjoyable. As I walked the streets this morning half costumed, the responses, positive and negative, were highly enjoyable. One individual decided to apprise me of the fact that my legs are very hairy. These comments are always wonderful to me because, having lived my entire life with me, and other humans, I manage to be quite cognizant of my relative hairiness. This is not to mention this own man's hideous existence.
At this moment I feel as if I had much more to say but, if so, it's eluding me. Should these facts or stories which I wished to relay miraculously appear, I shall make mention. In the meantime, sleep sounds good.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
I Got My Eye on You
So I saw this sign the other day. Not that sign, this other one. Yes, it's signs like that that do make me miss Jersey just a little bit. And when cornball things like that and breaking wind stop being funny to me, I don't know that I want to hang around me anymore.
I'm not gonna lie, my brain is feeling a little warped and drained today but I felt this compulsion to jot a few things down in here. So I have been shouting it out on my meager social network efforts, but if you make it here and my friend's short film "Take Out" has eluded you, you should check it out at that link back there. That reminds me how I was going to investigate creating pop-out links for this here blog, but then realized that you can command/apple-click or right-click to get yourself a new tab. I have become tab reliant. I always have about fifty-thousand open as reminders of articles to read and all that and it generally leads to my browser crashing and some lament that I will, at that point, never read the articles I realistically wasn't going to read anyway.
One thing I did read, though, because it was mostly pictures, was this post on Jailbreak of emo and comic-inspired artwork from a guy named Christopher Uminga. I kind of dug it, although not as much as I did the discovery of tilt-shift photography. There are some really amazing shots in there. My initial interest in the style spawned from this shot of Usain Bolt's Olympic 100m Victory. As you will be able to observe yourself, it makes things appear as scale models. Nifty.
Also nifty, also courtesy of Jailbreak, and also related to comics is this post and associated photos of a chick who turned a Dodge Caravan into the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle van.
I think that's more than enough at the moment. This post is brought to you by the following song. It's fun to queue that up in iTunes while it plays on youtube, just out of sync, so it makes it sound like a skipping record. Fun if you like feeling slightly insane and inducing a terrible headache.
I'm not gonna lie, my brain is feeling a little warped and drained today but I felt this compulsion to jot a few things down in here. So I have been shouting it out on my meager social network efforts, but if you make it here and my friend's short film "Take Out" has eluded you, you should check it out at that link back there. That reminds me how I was going to investigate creating pop-out links for this here blog, but then realized that you can command/apple-click or right-click to get yourself a new tab. I have become tab reliant. I always have about fifty-thousand open as reminders of articles to read and all that and it generally leads to my browser crashing and some lament that I will, at that point, never read the articles I realistically wasn't going to read anyway.
One thing I did read, though, because it was mostly pictures, was this post on Jailbreak of emo and comic-inspired artwork from a guy named Christopher Uminga. I kind of dug it, although not as much as I did the discovery of tilt-shift photography. There are some really amazing shots in there. My initial interest in the style spawned from this shot of Usain Bolt's Olympic 100m Victory. As you will be able to observe yourself, it makes things appear as scale models. Nifty.
Also nifty, also courtesy of Jailbreak, and also related to comics is this post and associated photos of a chick who turned a Dodge Caravan into the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle van.
I think that's more than enough at the moment. This post is brought to you by the following song. It's fun to queue that up in iTunes while it plays on youtube, just out of sync, so it makes it sound like a skipping record. Fun if you like feeling slightly insane and inducing a terrible headache.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Traveling Through Time
I am in a coffee shop that I will not give a name and I am eavesdropping as I am wont to do when I am not completely plugged into whatever it is I am working on. It's a welcome break from the editing I was doing in some ways and it's funny that I am going to pronounce these people vapid assholes as I am being an asshole of a sort by typing feet away from them and discussing them. Not sure that it makes me vapid though. I note, and this is not just in their conversation, that there is a very excessive use of the term literally. I use it on occasion myself, and we pretty much all use it incorrectly. After a time, incorrect word usage becomes acceptable and just sort of glossed over, but once I become aware of such things, I try to remedy them in myself. This is not merely to avoid hypocrisy, though I am certain it plays some role. For a good comic representation of misuse you can literally go there or get the longer read on it from Slate.
So dingus in his hat and black hoodie, with a jean jacket on top and his legs crossed is scrolling through his iPhone (which might actually be just an iPod touch) and complaining about how stupid a specific band line-up sounds. What's excellent is it comes on the heels of him complaining about the cost of a hot chocolate in this establishment. There are many other establishments that bear some similarity to this one, so he has other options. And you know, part of the reason their costs are high is because you are paying to be in this space and, in part, they need to recoup some cost for people like this guy and his female friend, who occupy space and do not purchase products. They both really like Jamison. First positive thing they have said after each complained about their roommates, former and current. I wonder how their roommates might feel about them? He doesn't mix his whiskey. I generally do not either, but is it wrong of me to say it sounds more pretentious coming from him? For her it depends.
I do find it amusing as well that they are both consulting their phones rather than actually interacting with one another. Of course, they do interact with one another, in conversations that are based around what is happening on their phones. Honestly, I wouldn't have even begun judging if the one girl had not swiped my seat when I rose temporarily (I think were I to rise permanently, my legs — or some other appendage — might get rather tired) to refill my beverage. I mean, my stuff was largely in the vicinity, but hey when you are so concerned and focused on being negative about everything, it's easy not to take note of other humans who might be sitting in places. It's really okay though, as it gave my buttocks a different surface to use, and gave me what I see as justification for judging their judging. People even pass judgement on the spelling of judgment. Can't we all just get along?
As it happens, beauty isn't even skin deep for these two. And though this borders on being negative, I'm smiling, because it reminds me how much I like certain other humans, and how lucky I am to know them. Contrast has its benefits, and it's not just boosting the effectiveness of MRI's. Later on folks.
So dingus in his hat and black hoodie, with a jean jacket on top and his legs crossed is scrolling through his iPhone (which might actually be just an iPod touch) and complaining about how stupid a specific band line-up sounds. What's excellent is it comes on the heels of him complaining about the cost of a hot chocolate in this establishment. There are many other establishments that bear some similarity to this one, so he has other options. And you know, part of the reason their costs are high is because you are paying to be in this space and, in part, they need to recoup some cost for people like this guy and his female friend, who occupy space and do not purchase products. They both really like Jamison. First positive thing they have said after each complained about their roommates, former and current. I wonder how their roommates might feel about them? He doesn't mix his whiskey. I generally do not either, but is it wrong of me to say it sounds more pretentious coming from him? For her it depends.
I do find it amusing as well that they are both consulting their phones rather than actually interacting with one another. Of course, they do interact with one another, in conversations that are based around what is happening on their phones. Honestly, I wouldn't have even begun judging if the one girl had not swiped my seat when I rose temporarily (I think were I to rise permanently, my legs — or some other appendage — might get rather tired) to refill my beverage. I mean, my stuff was largely in the vicinity, but hey when you are so concerned and focused on being negative about everything, it's easy not to take note of other humans who might be sitting in places. It's really okay though, as it gave my buttocks a different surface to use, and gave me what I see as justification for judging their judging. People even pass judgement on the spelling of judgment. Can't we all just get along?
As it happens, beauty isn't even skin deep for these two. And though this borders on being negative, I'm smiling, because it reminds me how much I like certain other humans, and how lucky I am to know them. Contrast has its benefits, and it's not just boosting the effectiveness of MRI's. Later on folks.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
How I Want To Apply to Jobs
Recently I was going through a shit-ton of my old emails in order to consolidate things as I have used an astonishing amount of the free space gmail provides to you, and I discovered something completely inane saved in a draft, as I am wont to do. This particular draft contained a job posting for a Freelance Copy Editor for an unnamed book publisher. I've only included a segment of it for the sake of space, with my favorite bit in bold.
In addition to reviewing text for typos and grammatical errors, the copy editor is responsible for:
+Making sure that all text follows house style.
+Checking that images align.
+Assuring that formatting is consistent.
+Making sure that the text wraps do not look awkward and are applied consistently.
+Eliminating orphans and widows.
I like when an otherwise serious job post has a sense of humor. The shitty thing is, half the time I might read this thinking, "what a great little joke they stuck in," and the other half of the time I'm thinking, "really?" It's all in how you read it...
But that job posting and description has nothing on the letter of interest the late Hunter S. Thompson presented to Jack Scott, editor of the Vancouver Sun. The man may have been somewhat insane, but you gotta admire his no bullshit attitude. At least when you're someone who smiles and takes a lot of shit.
The other night I also had the pleasure of interacting with a large volume of individuals from South Bend, Indiana. Now I had been there all of once, and stayed in something akin to a Motel 6. This was in that year 2005. But I really didn't see much of the town or interact with any of its inhabitants and was content to go on my way. Well this past Saturday I met a good number of folks from that area and they were all remarkably solid. They may not all have hailed from there initially, but they settled there and had a good vibe permeating them. So many people I run into are such absolute dingleberries that it makes it refreshing to kick it with chill folk.
The vibe continued when I headed to an establishment one might commonly refer to as a club. I will not give this club a name but will describe it as a warehouse type setting. Inside were not the individuals I expected. I don't go to clubs as a general rule, but I've wandered in here and there, and what I found could fit most stereotypical representations of clubs. The clientele here, instead, ran the gamut, and again everyone was just there to have a good time; no one was being a total dickhead. Now, in a mean-spirited vein, I could have done without a few of the creatures who had flung themselves into the throngs on the dance floor, but hey, hideous people have to party too.
You know what's way worse than a couple of creatures in a bar? When people talk shit about you and don't think you know it. It's not just that they don't think you're clever enough to realize, it's that they think you honestly could give a damn what their opinion of you is. Newsflash: I think you're a piece of shit, so that you don't like me is rather commensurate with my own opinion of you. Again, sometimes it might not hurt to be a little more Hunter S. Thompson. I feel as if this is not the first time I have raised this very thing in this here blog. And of course, by addressing that as I just did, it does imply that I give a bit of a damn what they think, but it's really the associated sentiment drawn from the actions. Semantics, posturing. Anyway, it's rather early in the morning and I have to be up rather early in the morning so I'm taking this opportunity to expire.
In addition to reviewing text for typos and grammatical errors, the copy editor is responsible for:
+Making sure that all text follows house style.
+Checking that images align.
+Assuring that formatting is consistent.
+Making sure that the text wraps do not look awkward and are applied consistently.
+Eliminating orphans and widows.
I like when an otherwise serious job post has a sense of humor. The shitty thing is, half the time I might read this thinking, "what a great little joke they stuck in," and the other half of the time I'm thinking, "really?" It's all in how you read it...
But that job posting and description has nothing on the letter of interest the late Hunter S. Thompson presented to Jack Scott, editor of the Vancouver Sun. The man may have been somewhat insane, but you gotta admire his no bullshit attitude. At least when you're someone who smiles and takes a lot of shit.
The other night I also had the pleasure of interacting with a large volume of individuals from South Bend, Indiana. Now I had been there all of once, and stayed in something akin to a Motel 6. This was in that year 2005. But I really didn't see much of the town or interact with any of its inhabitants and was content to go on my way. Well this past Saturday I met a good number of folks from that area and they were all remarkably solid. They may not all have hailed from there initially, but they settled there and had a good vibe permeating them. So many people I run into are such absolute dingleberries that it makes it refreshing to kick it with chill folk.
The vibe continued when I headed to an establishment one might commonly refer to as a club. I will not give this club a name but will describe it as a warehouse type setting. Inside were not the individuals I expected. I don't go to clubs as a general rule, but I've wandered in here and there, and what I found could fit most stereotypical representations of clubs. The clientele here, instead, ran the gamut, and again everyone was just there to have a good time; no one was being a total dickhead. Now, in a mean-spirited vein, I could have done without a few of the creatures who had flung themselves into the throngs on the dance floor, but hey, hideous people have to party too.
You know what's way worse than a couple of creatures in a bar? When people talk shit about you and don't think you know it. It's not just that they don't think you're clever enough to realize, it's that they think you honestly could give a damn what their opinion of you is. Newsflash: I think you're a piece of shit, so that you don't like me is rather commensurate with my own opinion of you. Again, sometimes it might not hurt to be a little more Hunter S. Thompson. I feel as if this is not the first time I have raised this very thing in this here blog. And of course, by addressing that as I just did, it does imply that I give a bit of a damn what they think, but it's really the associated sentiment drawn from the actions. Semantics, posturing. Anyway, it's rather early in the morning and I have to be up rather early in the morning so I'm taking this opportunity to expire.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Pursuit of Cleanliness
Well aw shit, I nearly didn't make it to a fourth entry this month. September came and went so quickly it appears and I find myself less than content with the volume of content I have created, on and off this blog.
One thing I did finally do is kick off a podcast with a chum of mine. We're found under the moniker RyeBread Radio, and you can listen to it here if you've got some time to kill. Co-host (he's really more the host) Akeem does all the editing, so as he sifts through the content, episodes should pop up. Edit: you can also listen/follow the show on ryebreadradio.tumblr.com
Something really on my mind is how dope this Lissie cover of Kid Cudi's Pursuit of Happiness. The remix of that was already high on my like list, but man, Lissie just crushes it. Timing for each is dependent on mood. Steve Aoki gets you amped, Lissie's is just rife with emotion.
Anyway, while we're on the topic of kick-ass female artists, y'all should stroll on over to bandcamp and get your hands on Kelly McFarling's album. It's all good and stuff. See you 'round the internet and stuff mothertruckers...
Edit: right as I was publishing this I heard of a sad loss for the comic community (and probably the world), comedian Greg Giraldo. The celebrity OD thing appears to be epidemic these days...RIP Mr. Giraldo...
One thing I did finally do is kick off a podcast with a chum of mine. We're found under the moniker RyeBread Radio, and you can listen to it here if you've got some time to kill. Co-host (he's really more the host) Akeem does all the editing, so as he sifts through the content, episodes should pop up. Edit: you can also listen/follow the show on ryebreadradio.tumblr.com
Something really on my mind is how dope this Lissie cover of Kid Cudi's Pursuit of Happiness. The remix of that was already high on my like list, but man, Lissie just crushes it. Timing for each is dependent on mood. Steve Aoki gets you amped, Lissie's is just rife with emotion.
Anyway, while we're on the topic of kick-ass female artists, y'all should stroll on over to bandcamp and get your hands on Kelly McFarling's album. It's all good and stuff. See you 'round the internet and stuff mothertruckers...
Edit: right as I was publishing this I heard of a sad loss for the comic community (and probably the world), comedian Greg Giraldo. The celebrity OD thing appears to be epidemic these days...RIP Mr. Giraldo...
Monday, September 13, 2010
From the Hip to the Knee
When I began this here blog I was never to be found in coffee shops. This had much to do with the fact that I did not drink coffee, but there were additional influences that included a cynicism with the clientele that went beyond healthy and fell into the category of disdain. As much fun as it is to write off huge chunks of the population without getting to know any of them, even that can get old. And since I am quite certain my physical appearance invites the ire of many onlookers sometimes you've got to judge not lest ye be judged.
For this past year the coffee house really has become my good friend. I have a special place in my heart for The Noble Tree. As it describes, it is a three-story old brownstone, and the folks that work there are all excellent humans. Or they were the last time I checked, as now that I have shifted neighborhoods I cannot make it out there with the frequency I would prefer. If I ever become a published author I will go back and leave them better tips. The other establishments I shall make mention of are houses, but only The Noble Tree was my home.
What I dug, and dig, about The Noble Tree was its very unpretentious nature. Sometimes I think it is pretentious of me to call things pretentious because I can't possibly know about all whether their talents be real or illusory. Affecting greater knowledge than one has, you know? This goes back to ideas of cynicism and jadedness and I had better stop. But certainly both Filter and The Wormhole fit the bill if you are someone that uses that p-word. The latter features a Delorean inside as well as a working original NES. The verbiage of their blog might be a bit much to take as well. But oh shit, if you don't like it, you don't have to go. I do like it, both of them, and Alliance Bakery as well. And the people that work at all of them? Jolly and delightful.
See I have this little dream to one day have a coffee house of my own. In the evenings it will be a bar and it will host all sorts of events because that is the shit that really matters. So I keep that little dream around and even if I can't live it I kind of put part of it into some writing that may never see the light of day but if you don't think it can happen, what's the gosh darn point?
This post got a little more fruit-tastic than I was expecting, but I didn't really have specific intentions when I began writing, it just seemed as if the time was write. You know what's not right? That I think I have to point out that last typo was intentional. It's a bit of assholery I can't escape from. Will they know? Will they get the joke? Maybe my joke is the problem.
But shoot, my dream of having a normally functioning knee once again is slowly becoming a reality so fingers and toes are crossed and wood is being knocked upon, which makes typing a challenge of sorts but it is worth it. What I can't seem to cross is paths with Jenny Lewis. I think we'd get along great, so long as I don't run into Lindsay first.
And now I know this is my blog, but really that's quite enough about me. Keep [r]eating, I'll see you 'round...
For this past year the coffee house really has become my good friend. I have a special place in my heart for The Noble Tree. As it describes, it is a three-story old brownstone, and the folks that work there are all excellent humans. Or they were the last time I checked, as now that I have shifted neighborhoods I cannot make it out there with the frequency I would prefer. If I ever become a published author I will go back and leave them better tips. The other establishments I shall make mention of are houses, but only The Noble Tree was my home.
What I dug, and dig, about The Noble Tree was its very unpretentious nature. Sometimes I think it is pretentious of me to call things pretentious because I can't possibly know about all whether their talents be real or illusory. Affecting greater knowledge than one has, you know? This goes back to ideas of cynicism and jadedness and I had better stop. But certainly both Filter and The Wormhole fit the bill if you are someone that uses that p-word. The latter features a Delorean inside as well as a working original NES. The verbiage of their blog might be a bit much to take as well. But oh shit, if you don't like it, you don't have to go. I do like it, both of them, and Alliance Bakery as well. And the people that work at all of them? Jolly and delightful.
See I have this little dream to one day have a coffee house of my own. In the evenings it will be a bar and it will host all sorts of events because that is the shit that really matters. So I keep that little dream around and even if I can't live it I kind of put part of it into some writing that may never see the light of day but if you don't think it can happen, what's the gosh darn point?
This post got a little more fruit-tastic than I was expecting, but I didn't really have specific intentions when I began writing, it just seemed as if the time was write. You know what's not right? That I think I have to point out that last typo was intentional. It's a bit of assholery I can't escape from. Will they know? Will they get the joke? Maybe my joke is the problem.
But shoot, my dream of having a normally functioning knee once again is slowly becoming a reality so fingers and toes are crossed and wood is being knocked upon, which makes typing a challenge of sorts but it is worth it. What I can't seem to cross is paths with Jenny Lewis. I think we'd get along great, so long as I don't run into Lindsay first.
And now I know this is my blog, but really that's quite enough about me. Keep [r]eating, I'll see you 'round...
Monday, September 6, 2010
It's the Thrill of the Chase
I happened to log into my Chase bank account on the internet today to find that two charges of $159.99 had been made to a website I had never heard of. This website turned out only to do billing and credit card processing. When I called to inquire they said that the charges were for a pornographic website I had not heard of. I didn't know that people still paid for porn these days, but I have to say that $319.98 is a lot of porn.
Chase proved to me once again they are an absolute dogshit worthless bank based on the interaction I had with them. Not only would I have to dispute these charges myself which, to be honest, isn't that big of a deal, but I would have to transfer funds manually to avoid a minimum balance. Really? Yes, if they did it for me it would be, I believe, $40 or whatever it is they charge for overdrafts. Yes, overdrafts because of charges I did not make. In fact they had already begun some bogus transaction for me. The billing company on the other hand had, by the time I called, already refunded my account. They likely realized based on my last name that I was a Jew and would never pay for something I could get for free.
Other than that, I have to pee. Tea really does that to me. Hope y'all had a wonderful labor day weekend.
Chase proved to me once again they are an absolute dogshit worthless bank based on the interaction I had with them. Not only would I have to dispute these charges myself which, to be honest, isn't that big of a deal, but I would have to transfer funds manually to avoid a minimum balance. Really? Yes, if they did it for me it would be, I believe, $40 or whatever it is they charge for overdrafts. Yes, overdrafts because of charges I did not make. In fact they had already begun some bogus transaction for me. The billing company on the other hand had, by the time I called, already refunded my account. They likely realized based on my last name that I was a Jew and would never pay for something I could get for free.
Other than that, I have to pee. Tea really does that to me. Hope y'all had a wonderful labor day weekend.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Septimber
Septimber is the sound of fall around the corner, the sound of moving in, and well timber is just falling too. Sep for right now.
I was going to be writing this yesterday evening but then my right flip-flop broke and my priorities shifted. I was de-thonged — ladies I now know how you feel — and met little sympathy as I walked the streets of downtown Chicago one flip-flop in hand. I don't know which one it was, but I am tempted to say it was the flop of the duo. As Walgreen's served me so well after my last pair of shit-flops was busted, I sought out another of these chains only to come up empty-handed and leave completely barefooted. With my asshole haircut and general Eurotrash appearance I believe many thought my barefoot status was purposefully imposed. So it goes.
Because I am often curious about trends and the pulse of this America and world that I, that we live in, I directed my web browser to youtube to see what the most viewed videos of all-time would be. Number one disgusted me slightly, which is a sign that, no matter my efforts, I hold on to some pretentiousness. I could save my fingers some trouble if they would go and make "pretention" a word.
Right, so number one, with in excess of 300 million views, was the Bieber. Sometimes he might get hit in the head with a water bottle but the kid is doing alright so I'm not really shedding a tear there. I have to say though, that when it comes to "Baby" I prefer this cover by the Neon Trees.
Honestly it wasn't that big of a shock to me that Bieber was number one, although 300 million views is a lot of views. No, the shock was seeing Vanessa Hudgens crack the top twenty with this vid. I didn't even know she made music and that has over 80 million views. Good gracious. But the string uniting them, besides both having sent nude photos on their phones to Zac Efron, is both of their videos prominently feature bowling alleys. Yes, bowling alleys. Is this some viral effort by a bowling consortium to attract over-sexed teens? I thought that was Chuck E. Cheese's job...
Anyway internet, it's been fun as sometimes. I need to write up a song parody and short story for my other blogs but the old "I am giving this shit away for free" gets me every now and then. So I'm saying you might have to settle for my mediocrity. And isn't that what America's all about?
I was going to be writing this yesterday evening but then my right flip-flop broke and my priorities shifted. I was de-thonged — ladies I now know how you feel — and met little sympathy as I walked the streets of downtown Chicago one flip-flop in hand. I don't know which one it was, but I am tempted to say it was the flop of the duo. As Walgreen's served me so well after my last pair of shit-flops was busted, I sought out another of these chains only to come up empty-handed and leave completely barefooted. With my asshole haircut and general Eurotrash appearance I believe many thought my barefoot status was purposefully imposed. So it goes.
Because I am often curious about trends and the pulse of this America and world that I, that we live in, I directed my web browser to youtube to see what the most viewed videos of all-time would be. Number one disgusted me slightly, which is a sign that, no matter my efforts, I hold on to some pretentiousness. I could save my fingers some trouble if they would go and make "pretention" a word.
Right, so number one, with in excess of 300 million views, was the Bieber. Sometimes he might get hit in the head with a water bottle but the kid is doing alright so I'm not really shedding a tear there. I have to say though, that when it comes to "Baby" I prefer this cover by the Neon Trees.
Honestly it wasn't that big of a shock to me that Bieber was number one, although 300 million views is a lot of views. No, the shock was seeing Vanessa Hudgens crack the top twenty with this vid. I didn't even know she made music and that has over 80 million views. Good gracious. But the string uniting them, besides both having sent nude photos on their phones to Zac Efron, is both of their videos prominently feature bowling alleys. Yes, bowling alleys. Is this some viral effort by a bowling consortium to attract over-sexed teens? I thought that was Chuck E. Cheese's job...
Anyway internet, it's been fun as sometimes. I need to write up a song parody and short story for my other blogs but the old "I am giving this shit away for free" gets me every now and then. So I'm saying you might have to settle for my mediocrity. And isn't that what America's all about?
Monday, August 23, 2010
When Life Gives You Lemons...
You'd better hope you don't have a bizarre citrus allergy. Otherwise, it's probably a good way to stave off scurvy. Do you Vitamin C what I'm talking about?
So devoted reader — and by that I mean that one person that reads this blog, namely me, not google reader, which I don't really use because I don't check enough news sites and blogs; I should, I really should, but man there is a ton of shit out there. As always I rely on the human internet (which I have made mention of in this very blog on probably more than one occasion) for the bulk of my news. Thank the potential dude upstairs for that — I'm seated in my skivvies watching Shaq Vs and he is having a showdown with Rachael Ray. That aside was pretty lengthy, even by my standards. So in a sense, things have come full circle then, as when I first started up this blog, a decent quantity of the fuel came from a dislike of Ray. But then I softened as I tend to, especially, as I noted way back in said day, upon realizing the degree to which so many disliked her. Watching Rachael cook up burgers with Shaq I judged that she is looking as if life has been hard on her these last three years, and the bubbly effervescence (redundant, but how I love that) seems to be more forced and wearing than ever. It can be hard being up all the time. So though it can be boring being nice, I hope life isn't giving you lemons Rachael or, if it is, that you have a deep-rooted love of citrus.
As usual there were some things and also stuff that I intended to cover in here but I don't remember what most of them are and I'm pretty sleepy. Before I expire I will take note of what I think is a somewhat creepy aspect of Blackberry's messenger app aka BBM (which I would priorly have deemed an abbreviation for big bowel movement) and that is confirmation a sent message has been read. It seems great knowing whether a message you have sent has been delivered and read, but do we really need complete transparency in everything in life? How about people are just honest and we trust them instead? Except that there will always be sociopaths. Whatever, not really that big a deal.
A deal I consider perhaps larger is the presence of typographical errors in this CBS news report on Obama's vacationing. I wish I never made any such errors because it comes across a tad hypocritical to judge the very errors one makes. Still, the folks who do this are paid. Bogus.
Exhibit A:
Critics say all his should be on the dire economy and the plight of average Americans. I assume the word "attention" was meant to be inserted betwixt "his" and "should." Yes, I said "betwixt."
Exhibit B:
Presidents, thought, are never truly on vacation. Here we see another small error of "thought" in place of "though." If it was Bush, it might be possible they meant "President's thoughts are never truly on vacation," were they, for instance, trying to attest that Bush was not aloofly out-to-lunch on many topics. It would be weird to refer to the president as simply "president," but it would alter the voice of the piece to that of shorthand, that kind of staccato pacing a la a telegram. That was a lot of qualifications and vagaries. I shall cease typing on this topic now.
So these simple typos and omissions are relatively commonplace but we all have our pet peeves right? I ain't even no editor. Anyway, sleep is in order. Cheerio bitches.
So devoted reader — and by that I mean that one person that reads this blog, namely me, not google reader, which I don't really use because I don't check enough news sites and blogs; I should, I really should, but man there is a ton of shit out there. As always I rely on the human internet (which I have made mention of in this very blog on probably more than one occasion) for the bulk of my news. Thank the potential dude upstairs for that — I'm seated in my skivvies watching Shaq Vs and he is having a showdown with Rachael Ray. That aside was pretty lengthy, even by my standards. So in a sense, things have come full circle then, as when I first started up this blog, a decent quantity of the fuel came from a dislike of Ray. But then I softened as I tend to, especially, as I noted way back in said day, upon realizing the degree to which so many disliked her. Watching Rachael cook up burgers with Shaq I judged that she is looking as if life has been hard on her these last three years, and the bubbly effervescence (redundant, but how I love that) seems to be more forced and wearing than ever. It can be hard being up all the time. So though it can be boring being nice, I hope life isn't giving you lemons Rachael or, if it is, that you have a deep-rooted love of citrus.
As usual there were some things and also stuff that I intended to cover in here but I don't remember what most of them are and I'm pretty sleepy. Before I expire I will take note of what I think is a somewhat creepy aspect of Blackberry's messenger app aka BBM (which I would priorly have deemed an abbreviation for big bowel movement) and that is confirmation a sent message has been read. It seems great knowing whether a message you have sent has been delivered and read, but do we really need complete transparency in everything in life? How about people are just honest and we trust them instead? Except that there will always be sociopaths. Whatever, not really that big a deal.
A deal I consider perhaps larger is the presence of typographical errors in this CBS news report on Obama's vacationing. I wish I never made any such errors because it comes across a tad hypocritical to judge the very errors one makes. Still, the folks who do this are paid. Bogus.
Exhibit A:
Critics say all his should be on the dire economy and the plight of average Americans. I assume the word "attention" was meant to be inserted betwixt "his" and "should." Yes, I said "betwixt."
Exhibit B:
Presidents, thought, are never truly on vacation. Here we see another small error of "thought" in place of "though." If it was Bush, it might be possible they meant "President's thoughts are never truly on vacation," were they, for instance, trying to attest that Bush was not aloofly out-to-lunch on many topics. It would be weird to refer to the president as simply "president," but it would alter the voice of the piece to that of shorthand, that kind of staccato pacing a la a telegram. That was a lot of qualifications and vagaries. I shall cease typing on this topic now.
So these simple typos and omissions are relatively commonplace but we all have our pet peeves right? I ain't even no editor. Anyway, sleep is in order. Cheerio bitches.
Monday, August 9, 2010
8-9-10
As in today is August 9, 2010. That won't happen for another century folks. Of course, you can say the same thing about 8/8/10, 8/10/10 and, well, you get the idea.
There were definitely some things and also some stuff that I meant to talk about but my brain is operating slowly. For me, diminished physical activity leads to a good degree of decreased mental activity.
I was lucky enough to attend Lollapalooza this weekend with roughly 239,999 other people. That is not meant as sarcasm, because the crowd is part of the quality of the experience. I always find that sort of outdoor festival deal pretty exhausting, all the more this time round as I continue to hobble about like a dipshit. I don't really know that dipshits hobble, but this one does.
In general it just reminded me of the good that results from saying yes to things. Like a young couple complimenting me on my mismatched shoes. Like the teenage kid with the water bottle full of cheap vodka trying to stay standing. Like the droves of folks dodging traffic, hopping an eight-foot fence, then sprinting through a VIP section to hop one more eight-foot fence. Shit's always more fun when you sneak in.
I was surprised at the crowd for Mumford and Sons, not because they don't kick ass (because they do) but because I had no idea they were, well, so popular. That was mildly redundant, to put it mildly, but that's kind of my thing. Hard not to like "Little Lion Man."
But because nobody likes it when people are overly positive (let's face it, it's annoying because no one should ever be that happy right?) I can briefly reference my completely unfounded dislike for actor Jesse Eisenberg, reminders stemming from a sighting of said person outside Second City the other day.
But since I could really give a shit about that guy, for a true negative (but also not a negative because it's a digital photo) here's a shot of the retarded bruise on the back of my leg. For a week or more there I couldn't figure out how it was that a bike ran into me at top speed and I had no mark to show for it. Well no more. Thanks delayed bruising.
Next year we can all look forward to 9/10/11.
There were definitely some things and also some stuff that I meant to talk about but my brain is operating slowly. For me, diminished physical activity leads to a good degree of decreased mental activity.
I was lucky enough to attend Lollapalooza this weekend with roughly 239,999 other people. That is not meant as sarcasm, because the crowd is part of the quality of the experience. I always find that sort of outdoor festival deal pretty exhausting, all the more this time round as I continue to hobble about like a dipshit. I don't really know that dipshits hobble, but this one does.
In general it just reminded me of the good that results from saying yes to things. Like a young couple complimenting me on my mismatched shoes. Like the teenage kid with the water bottle full of cheap vodka trying to stay standing. Like the droves of folks dodging traffic, hopping an eight-foot fence, then sprinting through a VIP section to hop one more eight-foot fence. Shit's always more fun when you sneak in.
I was surprised at the crowd for Mumford and Sons, not because they don't kick ass (because they do) but because I had no idea they were, well, so popular. That was mildly redundant, to put it mildly, but that's kind of my thing. Hard not to like "Little Lion Man."
But because nobody likes it when people are overly positive (let's face it, it's annoying because no one should ever be that happy right?) I can briefly reference my completely unfounded dislike for actor Jesse Eisenberg, reminders stemming from a sighting of said person outside Second City the other day.
But since I could really give a shit about that guy, for a true negative (but also not a negative because it's a digital photo) here's a shot of the retarded bruise on the back of my leg. For a week or more there I couldn't figure out how it was that a bike ran into me at top speed and I had no mark to show for it. Well no more. Thanks delayed bruising.
Next year we can all look forward to 9/10/11.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Cuanto Cuesta?
Last night I had the strangest dream and it involved a bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats. There was never any mystery about what percent milk I would need...It really wasn't that strange, but the only detail I remember was the bowl sitting there on my kitchen counter, on an inexorable march toward sogginess.
This entry's going to be rather link-heavy, so apologies if that bothers you, and your welcome if that's your sort of thing. Now the following apparently took place some time ago, but since it was pointed out to me only a couple of days ago, I will share it with you all. It is an incident of what I consider to be clear cheating an episode of Price is Right. I used to watch this show pretty religiously in the summer, in middle school in particular. It was my reason to awake by 11am. Drew Carey as a host is tough to take. I really think they should have handed the job off to me. I could use the money a little more than dear old Drew, but then so could a lot of people.
The next links are kind of my favorite and are all courtesy of my buddy Tom. In the late 1970s, there was no Nintendo Wii, and there was no internet for porn, so those things had to be combined. There was the Atari 2600 and, thanks to the folks at Mystique, a perfect trifecta of outrageous pornographic concept games:
Bachelor Party
Beat 'Em and Eat 'Em
Custer's Revenge
I won't bother to summarize those or anything since wikipedia covers it in quite excellent fashion. "Custer's Revenge" is definitely my favorite, as it is closest to the absurdity and hilarity dating back to when a buddy of mine was sent an Oregon Trail -inspired pornographic story. Inspiration doesn't do it justice, as the format was adopted pretty accurately. There I was thinking the girl who had written it was a pioneer...
To close out I just have to remark on a couple of song similarities that my ear has picked up on in the last day or two. Feel free to agree or disagree. The first is the clear influence of Hall and Oates's "You Make My Dreams Come True" on the Ducktales theme. Though Hall and Oates came first from what I know, I still give the point to Ducktales.
After that, take a moment to observe the common riffs between Morrissey's "First of the Gang to Die" and Yellowcard's "Inside Out." Point
Morrissey.
And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming...
This entry's going to be rather link-heavy, so apologies if that bothers you, and your welcome if that's your sort of thing. Now the following apparently took place some time ago, but since it was pointed out to me only a couple of days ago, I will share it with you all. It is an incident of what I consider to be clear cheating an episode of Price is Right. I used to watch this show pretty religiously in the summer, in middle school in particular. It was my reason to awake by 11am. Drew Carey as a host is tough to take. I really think they should have handed the job off to me. I could use the money a little more than dear old Drew, but then so could a lot of people.
The next links are kind of my favorite and are all courtesy of my buddy Tom. In the late 1970s, there was no Nintendo Wii, and there was no internet for porn, so those things had to be combined. There was the Atari 2600 and, thanks to the folks at Mystique, a perfect trifecta of outrageous pornographic concept games:
I won't bother to summarize those or anything since wikipedia covers it in quite excellent fashion. "Custer's Revenge" is definitely my favorite, as it is closest to the absurdity and hilarity dating back to when a buddy of mine was sent an Oregon Trail -inspired pornographic story. Inspiration doesn't do it justice, as the format was adopted pretty accurately. There I was thinking the girl who had written it was a pioneer...
To close out I just have to remark on a couple of song similarities that my ear has picked up on in the last day or two. Feel free to agree or disagree. The first is the clear influence of Hall and Oates's "You Make My Dreams Come True" on the Ducktales theme. Though Hall and Oates came first from what I know, I still give the point to Ducktales.
After that, take a moment to observe the common riffs between Morrissey's "First of the Gang to Die" and Yellowcard's "Inside Out." Point
Morrissey.
And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming...
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
RABBI
I'm not talking about the teachers of half of my unobserved faith. No, I'm talking about my newly founded organization: Runners Against Bad Biking Individuals (RABBI). That could probably use a little work. Edit: I changed "idiots" to individuals. Also, bad-biking might connote that they are bad-ass, but really it's a grammatical shortcoming implying that these bikers do not excel at biking. I really wanted it to be abbreviated RABBI as you can tell, but perhaps RAPBI is not bad either, though potentially confused with bisexual or bipolar rappers.
That's a little non-sequitury, even by my standards so allow me to explain. See sometimes I like to focus on really positive stuff that I enjoy, like taking a bum shower outside a bar in a thunderstorm but the fact is, for the time being, the most prominent thing on my mind is getting rear-ended by a biker last night while running. Not a motorcycle, a bike-bikes-bikecycle. Who gets hit by a bicycle? I know, I've repeated this very phrase many times since last night when this occurred.
The story is less homosexual than a lead in like "getting rear-ended by a biker" may originally have insinuated. So there I was, doing my thing on the Lake Shore pedestrian and bike path, my thing being running, when I thought I'd go around a couple of women walking in front of me rather than maintaining my full speed and slamming into their backs. Seemed like common courtesy, and I do this quite frequently, every day while walking and running in fact, amounting to tens of thousands of times even. The guy on the Specialized road bike behind me apparently has a different concept of etiquette, deciding instead to slam straight into my back. Oh those points of contention. Now even though I was simply navigating around a couple of walkers, I did look behind me because asshole bikers are always riding much too fast and much too close to myself and others. Didn't matter as I didn't see the guy and I guess he didn't see me. I get wanting to move quickly, I do it myself occasionally, but this is a shared path, and not really the place for it. Those damned shared free spaces and their idea of rules. I was probably in the wrong.
Lucky for the guy on the bike I am a total pussy and completely broke his fall, leaving he and his bike unscathed. I asked if he was okay, and he me, seeming awfully concerned that I was training for something. I said no, as if it would make a difference either way. I suppose he might have felt a little worse if I had said yes, but that won't heal my body any faster and I don't think he'll be covering my medical bills. I just found a snapshot of the path where it went down (I was going in the other direction, not that it matters).
So I took it left knee first and since it's a paved path it took a lot of my skin off, including a delightful chunk out of my inner right arm. I like to say it looks like Jared Leto in Requiem. It's an exaggeration, but when it was still bleeding I think it was pretty spot on. The thing is, as pissed as I was from having road rash, oozing wounds, and a really swollen knee, the guy who hit me wasn't a bad guy or anything. I just don't know why he was biking so fast and, more importantly, into my back.
So, to keep this an entry you don't want to read and view during a meal, here are a couple of dinky photos from photobooth.
What up ribs?
The crowning achievement.
Photos of my knees just came out blurry and my left knee is so swollen it looks like a fake shadow. No matter.
After the collision I limped around for a little while at which point, since I was still two miles from my apartment, I decided I ought to just jog it home. My left knee got a little stiff, but otherwise it was all good. As blood dripped down my legs and from my right forearm and sand-covered road rash adorned my ribs, I took pride in being met with periodic cries of "Jesus Christ" and "What the fuck?" as I cruised home. Perhaps pride is the wrong word. So with my future as a forearm model in serious jeopardy, I'm off to go investigate some other career options.
That's a little non-sequitury, even by my standards so allow me to explain. See sometimes I like to focus on really positive stuff that I enjoy, like taking a bum shower outside a bar in a thunderstorm but the fact is, for the time being, the most prominent thing on my mind is getting rear-ended by a biker last night while running. Not a motorcycle, a bike-bikes-bikecycle. Who gets hit by a bicycle? I know, I've repeated this very phrase many times since last night when this occurred.
The story is less homosexual than a lead in like "getting rear-ended by a biker" may originally have insinuated. So there I was, doing my thing on the Lake Shore pedestrian and bike path, my thing being running, when I thought I'd go around a couple of women walking in front of me rather than maintaining my full speed and slamming into their backs. Seemed like common courtesy, and I do this quite frequently, every day while walking and running in fact, amounting to tens of thousands of times even. The guy on the Specialized road bike behind me apparently has a different concept of etiquette, deciding instead to slam straight into my back. Oh those points of contention. Now even though I was simply navigating around a couple of walkers, I did look behind me because asshole bikers are always riding much too fast and much too close to myself and others. Didn't matter as I didn't see the guy and I guess he didn't see me. I get wanting to move quickly, I do it myself occasionally, but this is a shared path, and not really the place for it. Those damned shared free spaces and their idea of rules. I was probably in the wrong.
Lucky for the guy on the bike I am a total pussy and completely broke his fall, leaving he and his bike unscathed. I asked if he was okay, and he me, seeming awfully concerned that I was training for something. I said no, as if it would make a difference either way. I suppose he might have felt a little worse if I had said yes, but that won't heal my body any faster and I don't think he'll be covering my medical bills. I just found a snapshot of the path where it went down (I was going in the other direction, not that it matters).
So I took it left knee first and since it's a paved path it took a lot of my skin off, including a delightful chunk out of my inner right arm. I like to say it looks like Jared Leto in Requiem. It's an exaggeration, but when it was still bleeding I think it was pretty spot on. The thing is, as pissed as I was from having road rash, oozing wounds, and a really swollen knee, the guy who hit me wasn't a bad guy or anything. I just don't know why he was biking so fast and, more importantly, into my back.
So, to keep this an entry you don't want to read and view during a meal, here are a couple of dinky photos from photobooth.
Photos of my knees just came out blurry and my left knee is so swollen it looks like a fake shadow. No matter.
After the collision I limped around for a little while at which point, since I was still two miles from my apartment, I decided I ought to just jog it home. My left knee got a little stiff, but otherwise it was all good. As blood dripped down my legs and from my right forearm and sand-covered road rash adorned my ribs, I took pride in being met with periodic cries of "Jesus Christ" and "What the fuck?" as I cruised home. Perhaps pride is the wrong word. So with my future as a forearm model in serious jeopardy, I'm off to go investigate some other career options.
Friday, July 23, 2010
AC Drip
The title is not in reference to the intellect of one Mario Lopez, no, it is in reference to the condensation that forms and drops from window air conditioning units, often onto unsuspecting humanoids below. In my case I am a suspecting humanoid, but they still get ya. There is really nothing particularly gross about it, but it tends to weird me out just the same. Where I am seated currently I am victim of an indoor AC drip, but it's preferable to the out of doors where I would be sitting in a puddle of my own vile cooling system.
The other night I stepped out of class and there were cop cars and fire department vehicles and that telltale yellow tape blocking off the streets of Old Town and onlookers seemed excited thinking it was the filming of the upcoming Transformers film. Instead it was a good old-fashioned bomb threat. What is the difference between a bomb threat and a bomb scare? I suppose the latter indicates the confirmed presence, or maybe it's when you just take the threat seriously. Reminded me what a lousy bomb diffuser I would be likely to make as a colorblinder. I believe certain other contributing factors would also make me a less-than-ideal selection for this position.
I love looking at lists like the "100 Best Places to Live." Not quite as ironic as calling something a "best kept secret," but I would think putting these places on the radar more might lead to their decline. Then again, maybe not, since I won't be moving to any of them. There's something fun about seeing lists of places I'll never live, great places to raise my imaginary family, and also marveling at how much money some people really have. I had some other stuff, and even things, to discuss, but they are eluding me for the time being.
Don't melt this weekend folks. Cheers.
The other night I stepped out of class and there were cop cars and fire department vehicles and that telltale yellow tape blocking off the streets of Old Town and onlookers seemed excited thinking it was the filming of the upcoming Transformers film. Instead it was a good old-fashioned bomb threat. What is the difference between a bomb threat and a bomb scare? I suppose the latter indicates the confirmed presence, or maybe it's when you just take the threat seriously. Reminded me what a lousy bomb diffuser I would be likely to make as a colorblinder. I believe certain other contributing factors would also make me a less-than-ideal selection for this position.
I love looking at lists like the "100 Best Places to Live." Not quite as ironic as calling something a "best kept secret," but I would think putting these places on the radar more might lead to their decline. Then again, maybe not, since I won't be moving to any of them. There's something fun about seeing lists of places I'll never live, great places to raise my imaginary family, and also marveling at how much money some people really have. I had some other stuff, and even things, to discuss, but they are eluding me for the time being.
Don't melt this weekend folks. Cheers.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Pooparoni
Some people say they would give you the shirt off their back. I like to think I am one of them, one reason being that I have done it before, but also because I am so damned sweaty that a shirt is a waste of time for me. By token of this very same virtue, you may not want the shirt I am offering. This has always been abundantly clear to me and I'm sure I've stated it before, but I never said I wasn't redundant.
In line with redundancy, one might say I made the same calculated error on back-to-back evenings in consuming pepperoni pizza. Rarely in my lifetime have I consumed this Jew-forbidden meat, but I admit to its salted deliciousness. In discovering this, I also discovered its propensity for giving me heartburn, especially the day after. Though I successfully dodged this bullet after Sunday evening consumption, a repeat performance Monday was not to be had. This is not entirely accurate, as I did not suffer heartburn, merely burn in another arena. And no, I did not mean area. Inaccuracy abounds as it may not have been the pepperoni but, in fact, the undercooked cheese, of which there was a great quantity, and the undercooked dough. Mmmmmm...
While I seem to pay quite often for the substances I choose to ingest, the opposite appears true regarding one of my old high school teammates. Probably standing 5'5" and weighing in at something like a buck-twenty-five, this monstrosity manages to consume frightening quantities of booze and gut-rending munchies. When people discuss eating and drinking prowess, it is easy to remain skeptical without proof, but I would say his newly launched blog is reasonable proof. I'd use his name, but I like the mystery of things like eyes blocked out with photoshop paint that is a theme on said blog.
In other news, it wouldn't hurt for it to get a little less hot and humid up in this mother. I must choose my days for wearing khaki shorts very carefully as swamp-ass is a foregone conclusion. Admitting this may seem a bit gross, but when the telltale miniature heart-shape of damp becomes visible on the lower ass of my shorts to anonymous real-life humans, why not share it with anonymous internet ones as well.
Anyway, the face of the girl sitting at around 10 o'clock from me is really starting to piss me off so I've got to shuttle out of here. I can only fight the urge to laugh like a maniac or pour coffee onto her computer/face for so long. I think I watched too much negative stand-up last night! I need to study up on Einstein's Theory of Negativity...Plus I'm really hungry. Happy Wednesday!
In line with redundancy, one might say I made the same calculated error on back-to-back evenings in consuming pepperoni pizza. Rarely in my lifetime have I consumed this Jew-forbidden meat, but I admit to its salted deliciousness. In discovering this, I also discovered its propensity for giving me heartburn, especially the day after. Though I successfully dodged this bullet after Sunday evening consumption, a repeat performance Monday was not to be had. This is not entirely accurate, as I did not suffer heartburn, merely burn in another arena. And no, I did not mean area. Inaccuracy abounds as it may not have been the pepperoni but, in fact, the undercooked cheese, of which there was a great quantity, and the undercooked dough. Mmmmmm...
While I seem to pay quite often for the substances I choose to ingest, the opposite appears true regarding one of my old high school teammates. Probably standing 5'5" and weighing in at something like a buck-twenty-five, this monstrosity manages to consume frightening quantities of booze and gut-rending munchies. When people discuss eating and drinking prowess, it is easy to remain skeptical without proof, but I would say his newly launched blog is reasonable proof. I'd use his name, but I like the mystery of things like eyes blocked out with photoshop paint that is a theme on said blog.
In other news, it wouldn't hurt for it to get a little less hot and humid up in this mother. I must choose my days for wearing khaki shorts very carefully as swamp-ass is a foregone conclusion. Admitting this may seem a bit gross, but when the telltale miniature heart-shape of damp becomes visible on the lower ass of my shorts to anonymous real-life humans, why not share it with anonymous internet ones as well.
Anyway, the face of the girl sitting at around 10 o'clock from me is really starting to piss me off so I've got to shuttle out of here. I can only fight the urge to laugh like a maniac or pour coffee onto her computer/face for so long. I think I watched too much negative stand-up last night! I need to study up on Einstein's Theory of Negativity...Plus I'm really hungry. Happy Wednesday!
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Charles Barkley on the American Flag
I was going to say and now that I'm typing it I guess I am saying that it is hotter than monkey tits out. I don't even know that monkey tits get that hot. Probably not, since those dude[tte]s live in some pretty tropical climates and have all that fur and yet don't combust or anything. It's also muy humid, which is my homage to Spain on winning the World Cup. I have to get around to learning some Spanish. Muy caliente, not to be confused with muy caliendo, which is synonymous with not being funny but then getting your own TV show called Frank TV but then dropping off the face of the Earth soon after. I take that back, nothing against Frank, he just wasn't for me. I hope he got paid a lot of money and is retired nicely somewhere. I would like to do that too.
My brain is addled from excessive writing attempts, but I needed a mid-month update in here to keep pace so here it be. Some props to Charles Barkley because every time I wear his Phoenix Suns jersey I get props galore from humans on the street. Thanks Chuck. Similarly, American flag stuff goes over huge. I was rocking my American flags shorts as referenced in the last entry here, strolling down the Lake Shore path (is that a proper noun, I don't know) this time when I was stopped by a bikini-clad twelve year-old. By strolling I mean running and I should also probably point out I was wearing mismatched shoes, another frequent occurrence for myself. She was with several other children of her approximated age and she asked if I would take a picture with them. Normally I hate to stop during runs, but since I'm not good at running anymore, I said yes. I mean, that's a tenet of improv anyway, say yes. So there I am, drenched in sweat, arms around two giggling twelve year-old girls in bikinis while a couple of dudes and I believe one more girl get into frame to have a photo taken by yet another child of similar age. What these kids were doing out there by themselves who knows. "Yeah, 'cause this isn't weird," is all I could muster. I wish I'd given them my email so I could post the photo, I really do. Good thing I never plan to run for public office.
The very next day, I yesterday learned, one of my Second City classmates witnessed me running down this path. He then proceeded to do an impression of my running. I have long known I run like a total goof, but seeing impressions of it never gets old. I hope I do not look like he made it out that I do, and yet it would explain the insane looks I get from most everyone I pass on the path. That, my short length (and by this I mean the length of my shorts), and my propensity for dancing to the tunes flowing through the old noggin.
But I've got to go outside and soak through my t-shirt again and then go for one of these runs I was talking about. Stay tuned for more unexciting adventures.
My brain is addled from excessive writing attempts, but I needed a mid-month update in here to keep pace so here it be. Some props to Charles Barkley because every time I wear his Phoenix Suns jersey I get props galore from humans on the street. Thanks Chuck. Similarly, American flag stuff goes over huge. I was rocking my American flags shorts as referenced in the last entry here, strolling down the Lake Shore path (is that a proper noun, I don't know) this time when I was stopped by a bikini-clad twelve year-old. By strolling I mean running and I should also probably point out I was wearing mismatched shoes, another frequent occurrence for myself. She was with several other children of her approximated age and she asked if I would take a picture with them. Normally I hate to stop during runs, but since I'm not good at running anymore, I said yes. I mean, that's a tenet of improv anyway, say yes. So there I am, drenched in sweat, arms around two giggling twelve year-old girls in bikinis while a couple of dudes and I believe one more girl get into frame to have a photo taken by yet another child of similar age. What these kids were doing out there by themselves who knows. "Yeah, 'cause this isn't weird," is all I could muster. I wish I'd given them my email so I could post the photo, I really do. Good thing I never plan to run for public office.
The very next day, I yesterday learned, one of my Second City classmates witnessed me running down this path. He then proceeded to do an impression of my running. I have long known I run like a total goof, but seeing impressions of it never gets old. I hope I do not look like he made it out that I do, and yet it would explain the insane looks I get from most everyone I pass on the path. That, my short length (and by this I mean the length of my shorts), and my propensity for dancing to the tunes flowing through the old noggin.
But I've got to go outside and soak through my t-shirt again and then go for one of these runs I was talking about. Stay tuned for more unexciting adventures.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Fourth of Jew-Lie
Scheisser! I like totally meant to get down to business in here like before this but then I went out to Maine for the holiday and the internet was not in the cards. Yeah internet, sorry, I had better things to do. It seems the internet had better things to do too. Maine really is a magical land and a whole other world. They do call it "Vacationland" (it even says it on the license plate), and maybe it's the state motto. I could easily look it up, but I try to rely on my actual brain and it's every dwindling efficiencies and knowledge. I would call it the lobster state if I were in charge. This is not the reason I am not in charge, but it's certainly a reason.
But Maine is also really weird and it gives you an idea why Stephen King writes those stories of his. I haven't actually read any of his stories, but I know enough about them for it to make sense. Like the pick-up parked at my motel that had recyclables in the bed and trash stacked, and stuck, to the ceiling in the passenger seat. I never saw the owner, and I don't know that I'd want to. As anyone on the East coast knows, it was also hot as monkeys this weekend past. They should shave off the fur.
The 4th I nearly melted in the heat and was dressed as a complete asshat, but because my shorts had the American flag on them, the great town of Kennebunkport supported me. Thanks America.
Approximation from 2005. These days I am less fit and invite dislike with a fauxhawk-mohawk. I was also wearing red and white soccer socks. I delight in dressing like an ass. The hat is optional.
In other oddity, as I was out for a joggle (which is a jog that boggles your mind due to excessive heat and you're all wondering why you are running and stuff) my last morning I saw a man in a wheelchair moving ever-so-slowly down a rural-ass road. That is most roads in Maine, but believe me, it was rural. And it was hot. I passed him and, when I turned around, I noted him stopped there.
Turns out he had slid off the cambered road and couldn't get going on the smooth asphalt (or whatever substance it was paved with) so he asked me to pull him up. I even asked if he wanted to be wheeled somewhere in particular. I have no idea where that guy would have come from or where he was headed, but I sure hope he made it there. Maybe he was just stir crazy as I was once post-surgery when I decided to crutch a neighborhood loop (which made me sore as shit for a couple of days there). These occurrences are meant to have inspired a short story from me, which will be a nice break from longer stuff I've been trying to write and edit through.
Also, I think there needs to be an official Independence Day dance, or a separate day called Independance Day, where they just play Billy Idol's Dancing With Myself. There can also be an Indepenance Day, unless you see something wrong with that...
I hope you've all been watching the World Cup because it's been pretty awesome. I have to say I dig Spain's style and I won't be disappointed if they or the Dutch win it, although the Dutch struck me as a bit floppy last match. Germany's exit was tough because I liked their energy and yelling "Schweinsteiger". I will continue yelling it though, because I'm an idiot.
Remember to use the fake German accent. I promise, it's fun...SCHWEINSTEIGER!!!!!!!!
But Maine is also really weird and it gives you an idea why Stephen King writes those stories of his. I haven't actually read any of his stories, but I know enough about them for it to make sense. Like the pick-up parked at my motel that had recyclables in the bed and trash stacked, and stuck, to the ceiling in the passenger seat. I never saw the owner, and I don't know that I'd want to. As anyone on the East coast knows, it was also hot as monkeys this weekend past. They should shave off the fur.
The 4th I nearly melted in the heat and was dressed as a complete asshat, but because my shorts had the American flag on them, the great town of Kennebunkport supported me. Thanks America.
In other oddity, as I was out for a joggle (which is a jog that boggles your mind due to excessive heat and you're all wondering why you are running and stuff) my last morning I saw a man in a wheelchair moving ever-so-slowly down a rural-ass road. That is most roads in Maine, but believe me, it was rural. And it was hot. I passed him and, when I turned around, I noted him stopped there.
Turns out he had slid off the cambered road and couldn't get going on the smooth asphalt (or whatever substance it was paved with) so he asked me to pull him up. I even asked if he wanted to be wheeled somewhere in particular. I have no idea where that guy would have come from or where he was headed, but I sure hope he made it there. Maybe he was just stir crazy as I was once post-surgery when I decided to crutch a neighborhood loop (which made me sore as shit for a couple of days there). These occurrences are meant to have inspired a short story from me, which will be a nice break from longer stuff I've been trying to write and edit through.
Also, I think there needs to be an official Independence Day dance, or a separate day called Independance Day, where they just play Billy Idol's Dancing With Myself. There can also be an Indepenance Day, unless you see something wrong with that...
I hope you've all been watching the World Cup because it's been pretty awesome. I have to say I dig Spain's style and I won't be disappointed if they or the Dutch win it, although the Dutch struck me as a bit floppy last match. Germany's exit was tough because I liked their energy and yelling "Schweinsteiger". I will continue yelling it though, because I'm an idiot.
Remember to use the fake German accent. I promise, it's fun...SCHWEINSTEIGER!!!!!!!!
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Whirled Cup
I was sitting around watching the The World Cup the other day, and by the other day I could mean any number of days since I have been doing my darndest to watch as many matches as possible.
When I had my first intentions to write this post, England was still in the damned thing and I was all jazzed to post their current World Cup support song Shout by Shout England. Well I've posted it anyway because I rather fancy it. Just by thinking about England my writing takes on a decidedly more British tone. With the boys adorned with Three Lions gone home I've transferred my allegiance to Spain and the Netherlands.
Another team out is Portugal, with Ronaldo taking a lot of flack. I'm sure some of it is deserved, but Spain was the better team yesterday. I also find it amusing that he wears smaller shorts than the rest of the Portuguese team. Also, if anyone happens to have the Brazil v. Portugal match on DVR/TiVo, I recommend skipping to ~65:20 to catch slow-motion action of Raul Meireles and some other dude on the Portuguese squad (yeah, I didn't recognize him) making obscene gestures. There is also a complete break in the commentary at that point. I found it very likable. Uh, it'll make more sense if you see it, I promise.
I'll just be looking forward to some good soccer/football and I have to say, I enjoy the vuvuzelas. When I turn on the TV or stroll into a bar, that distinctive humming reminiscent of a swarm of bees is a comforting sign that I am watching the World Cup.
Speaking of out, Roger Federer out of Wimbledon? Say it ain't so (and if you read back, you'd know I was not always his number one fan). Oh, and the pride parade. I missed most of it but there was plenty of spectacle in the aftermath and it led to the good cheer that had me say yes to the unusual mixed drink offered me by four soccer moms I met on the El.
Right, so then I all forgot what else I meant to talk about in this entry but I felt like dropping it while it was still June. One thing, and this is not the first time I've noticed, is how easy it is to hate people purely through the internet and interpreting/sensing what they were thinking by sharing (and not sharing) certain things.
But that is dumb, and won't advance you anywhere, so instead, let's embrace how you can love people through the internet, like when it's clips of Ron Artest on Jimmy Kimmel Live. If you want that eight minutes back, send me a message and I'll see what I can do.
If I don't make it back here by then, happy 4th of July folks.
When I had my first intentions to write this post, England was still in the damned thing and I was all jazzed to post their current World Cup support song Shout by Shout England. Well I've posted it anyway because I rather fancy it. Just by thinking about England my writing takes on a decidedly more British tone. With the boys adorned with Three Lions gone home I've transferred my allegiance to Spain and the Netherlands.
Another team out is Portugal, with Ronaldo taking a lot of flack. I'm sure some of it is deserved, but Spain was the better team yesterday. I also find it amusing that he wears smaller shorts than the rest of the Portuguese team. Also, if anyone happens to have the Brazil v. Portugal match on DVR/TiVo, I recommend skipping to ~65:20 to catch slow-motion action of Raul Meireles and some other dude on the Portuguese squad (yeah, I didn't recognize him) making obscene gestures. There is also a complete break in the commentary at that point. I found it very likable. Uh, it'll make more sense if you see it, I promise.
I'll just be looking forward to some good soccer/football and I have to say, I enjoy the vuvuzelas. When I turn on the TV or stroll into a bar, that distinctive humming reminiscent of a swarm of bees is a comforting sign that I am watching the World Cup.
Speaking of out, Roger Federer out of Wimbledon? Say it ain't so (and if you read back, you'd know I was not always his number one fan). Oh, and the pride parade. I missed most of it but there was plenty of spectacle in the aftermath and it led to the good cheer that had me say yes to the unusual mixed drink offered me by four soccer moms I met on the El.
Right, so then I all forgot what else I meant to talk about in this entry but I felt like dropping it while it was still June. One thing, and this is not the first time I've noticed, is how easy it is to hate people purely through the internet and interpreting/sensing what they were thinking by sharing (and not sharing) certain things.
But that is dumb, and won't advance you anywhere, so instead, let's embrace how you can love people through the internet, like when it's clips of Ron Artest on Jimmy Kimmel Live. If you want that eight minutes back, send me a message and I'll see what I can do.
If I don't make it back here by then, happy 4th of July folks.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Summer Salt-Sticks
I do have to wonder, at times, if the mind works slower in the heat. I think excessive temperatures in either direction might slow it down a tick. The thing is, it hasn't even gotten all that hot yet, so I could be skirting a dangerous line of unproductivity. This is sometimes referred to as laziness. It is true that certain factors, environmental and otherwise, can influence such a broad term as productivity, but that is where that thing called adaptability is meant to step in.
Speaking of stepping in, another potential distractor could be my potentially broken foot. We're talking all kinds of potential here. That thing is always acting up, I swear. Not that I give it the greatest of care perhaps, but really the thing can be re-goddamned-diculous. I am going to be one crippled-ass old man if they don't step it up on bionic limbs.
But I didn't mean to hate on the heat, I do like it to be hot, it's just that I am one of the sweatiest humans alive. I probably wouldn't like it anyway but there is sort of a social stigma against sweating. I try to own it, but it can be tough. I try to determine whether it makes it seem as if I am a) a crackhead, b) someone hurrying everywhere, c) just plain gross, or d) a combination of some of those three preceding letters. Those aren't much in the way of choices, but remember what I said about productivity struggles?
But rather than productivity, we should be worrying about the quality of life. Having lived in and around big cities most of my life, there's this Danish fellow Jan Gehl who really helps get at getting it right. He's all about pedestrian and cyclist friendly cities and dope public spaces. I am not sure how he feels about public dope spaces, that's more of an Amsterdam thing, and Gehl tends to get down more in Copenhagen. And another bright spot out of Copenhagen or at the least Denmark, is singer-songwriter Sys Bjerre. All I've heard, courtesy of the sis, is embedded below. And in case you're wondering, yes, there are some f-bombs and other English sprinkled in with the Danish. So I leave you with this delightful video and, if I could, a tasty danish just as my boys at Entenmann's have managed for years.
Speaking of stepping in, another potential distractor could be my potentially broken foot. We're talking all kinds of potential here. That thing is always acting up, I swear. Not that I give it the greatest of care perhaps, but really the thing can be re-goddamned-diculous. I am going to be one crippled-ass old man if they don't step it up on bionic limbs.
But I didn't mean to hate on the heat, I do like it to be hot, it's just that I am one of the sweatiest humans alive. I probably wouldn't like it anyway but there is sort of a social stigma against sweating. I try to own it, but it can be tough. I try to determine whether it makes it seem as if I am a) a crackhead, b) someone hurrying everywhere, c) just plain gross, or d) a combination of some of those three preceding letters. Those aren't much in the way of choices, but remember what I said about productivity struggles?
But rather than productivity, we should be worrying about the quality of life. Having lived in and around big cities most of my life, there's this Danish fellow Jan Gehl who really helps get at getting it right. He's all about pedestrian and cyclist friendly cities and dope public spaces. I am not sure how he feels about public dope spaces, that's more of an Amsterdam thing, and Gehl tends to get down more in Copenhagen. And another bright spot out of Copenhagen or at the least Denmark, is singer-songwriter Sys Bjerre. All I've heard, courtesy of the sis, is embedded below. And in case you're wondering, yes, there are some f-bombs and other English sprinkled in with the Danish. So I leave you with this delightful video and, if I could, a tasty danish just as my boys at Entenmann's have managed for years.
Friday, June 18, 2010
There's No Such Thing as Free Advertising?
Product placement cracks me up, always has. The other night I was watching the late late show with Fallon and he's got a Macbook on his desk in clear view at the edge of the frame. Why? Is Jimmy checking his email during the show? I don't think he actually used it or anything it was just...there. So, right, why?
On perhaps the very same evening, or at least a similar one, I was tucked into bed, laptop screen creepily illuminating face as I caught up on Gossip Girl. At the end of episode 20 of this season (spoiler alert), Jenny uses Bing! to do a search on cancer. Bing! That's the sound of producers cashing in on ad dollars. Not to be outdone, in the very next episode Blair is seen sleuthing on her Macbook. But Apple doesn't even really do search, so Microsoft should be looking to make Bing! a Mac thing too. And here I am talking about Bing! on blogger, owned by search giant Google. What's a boy to do?
Now I'm fairly certain I've raised this issue before, but stepping back to Gossip Girl, why don’t they actually drink from coffee mugs on the show? Anything in a mug, I promise you, empty. It’s a minor detail, but it just looks silly so why not make it minor and realistic. I don't get it. One more reason I will never make it to Hollywood.
As I was sitting sipping coffee just two days ago, I reached into my pocket to answer a phone call, only to discover what seemed to be sand all up in my phone. Know what I'm sayin? But really, there was. A bit baffled, I investigated said pocket in said shorts (as yet unsaid it seems) to find a sand-like substance in there. This, I admit, was the first wearing of now said shorts and I do not wash my clothes before wearing. I don't even wash them after wearing if I can avoid it. A Marshall's purchase, they were probably stripped from a man who died on the beach. Hey, whatever they have do to keep my designer clothes (including designers I've never heard of) cheap...Oh and, like, TJ Maxx owns them, right? That was rhetorical. So why is there little crossover? That's rhetorical too. It's so it's so much damned fun every time you walk in.
In fact, I might head there after this England match on my way to work. I hear they've got discounted NBA, MLB, and World Cup officials. There are some irregularities, sure, but you can't beat the price!
On perhaps the very same evening, or at least a similar one, I was tucked into bed, laptop screen creepily illuminating face as I caught up on Gossip Girl. At the end of episode 20 of this season (spoiler alert), Jenny uses Bing! to do a search on cancer. Bing! That's the sound of producers cashing in on ad dollars. Not to be outdone, in the very next episode Blair is seen sleuthing on her Macbook. But Apple doesn't even really do search, so Microsoft should be looking to make Bing! a Mac thing too. And here I am talking about Bing! on blogger, owned by search giant Google. What's a boy to do?
Now I'm fairly certain I've raised this issue before, but stepping back to Gossip Girl, why don’t they actually drink from coffee mugs on the show? Anything in a mug, I promise you, empty. It’s a minor detail, but it just looks silly so why not make it minor and realistic. I don't get it. One more reason I will never make it to Hollywood.
As I was sitting sipping coffee just two days ago, I reached into my pocket to answer a phone call, only to discover what seemed to be sand all up in my phone. Know what I'm sayin? But really, there was. A bit baffled, I investigated said pocket in said shorts (as yet unsaid it seems) to find a sand-like substance in there. This, I admit, was the first wearing of now said shorts and I do not wash my clothes before wearing. I don't even wash them after wearing if I can avoid it. A Marshall's purchase, they were probably stripped from a man who died on the beach. Hey, whatever they have do to keep my designer clothes (including designers I've never heard of) cheap...Oh and, like, TJ Maxx owns them, right? That was rhetorical. So why is there little crossover? That's rhetorical too. It's so it's so much damned fun every time you walk in.
In fact, I might head there after this England match on my way to work. I hear they've got discounted NBA, MLB, and World Cup officials. There are some irregularities, sure, but you can't beat the price!
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Where Do The Days Go
Hot shit, maybe it's the rain, and maybe it's how good this M. Ward song is, and maybe it's a little bit of both but I have been rocking out to "Poison Cup" a good dozen times in a row here. Rocking may not been the proper terminology to describe this particular track but it will work well enough. Listen to this song and tell me you don't like it. But then at least tell me why.
Two days late, I gotta give it up for Sunday as a solid sports day. Nadal winning the French Open (I have shirked my largely unfounded dislike for Federer after learning he is not a robot, but man I do like this Nadal character), the Celts evening their series with the Lakers, and the 'Hawks grabbing a 3-2 lead over the Flyers. Tonight not so much as the Lakers downed the Celts this time. I'll hope for a 'Hawks close-out tomorrow.
How is it possible for a watch to cost ~$525,000?
After long delay I dropped another short story today, and should be putting a 30-minute parody together in the next day or two. Suggestions on a daily tweet theme for July are very welcome.
Next order of business before I forget is to plug the return of Balke to the blogosphere. He's dropping fresh new concept songs pretty much once a day. They are, honestly, awesome. On the subject of songs, I must also plug Kelly McFarling and Tim Johnson's duet performance of the MGMT hit "Kids" that I thought I would have posted back in my homage to WesTech, but apparently did not. They're both supremely talented and you can catch more of Kelly's folky excellence here.
And, well, I was going to discuss that story about the chick who says she was fired from a bank for being "too sexy." I guess I am discussing it, but since I think the whole thing is more of a publicity stunt than a valid case, I didn't want to lend much credence to it. I mean, I don't doubt she was harassed, but upon listening to her interview, her intelligence and ability to perform her job is drawn into question. Also, though mentioned in at least one article, they largely gloss over the fact that her looks may have helped her get hired in the first place. Ah balls, that's more than enough for the moment. Cheers folks.
Two days late, I gotta give it up for Sunday as a solid sports day. Nadal winning the French Open (I have shirked my largely unfounded dislike for Federer after learning he is not a robot, but man I do like this Nadal character), the Celts evening their series with the Lakers, and the 'Hawks grabbing a 3-2 lead over the Flyers. Tonight not so much as the Lakers downed the Celts this time. I'll hope for a 'Hawks close-out tomorrow.
After long delay I dropped another short story today, and should be putting a 30-minute parody together in the next day or two. Suggestions on a daily tweet theme for July are very welcome.
Next order of business before I forget is to plug the return of Balke to the blogosphere. He's dropping fresh new concept songs pretty much once a day. They are, honestly, awesome. On the subject of songs, I must also plug Kelly McFarling and Tim Johnson's duet performance of the MGMT hit "Kids" that I thought I would have posted back in my homage to WesTech, but apparently did not. They're both supremely talented and you can catch more of Kelly's folky excellence here.
And, well, I was going to discuss that story about the chick who says she was fired from a bank for being "too sexy." I guess I am discussing it, but since I think the whole thing is more of a publicity stunt than a valid case, I didn't want to lend much credence to it. I mean, I don't doubt she was harassed, but upon listening to her interview, her intelligence and ability to perform her job is drawn into question. Also, though mentioned in at least one article, they largely gloss over the fact that her looks may have helped her get hired in the first place. Ah balls, that's more than enough for the moment. Cheers folks.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Weather or Not, Here They Come
Back in the day, and by back in the day I mean a little over two years ago, I wrote a post pertaining to warm weather spawning crazy behavior. I'd link to it, but it's nothing too profound. I've got to say that whether or not the specific mechanism of the heat that causes people to react absurdly might not have been identified, it is always a key player in fact and fiction.
Evidence includes the increased number of shootings here in Chicago over Memorial Day weekend, when temperatures reached into the 90s. One simple factor could be people step out of their homes once it gets warm. Another could be that being overly hot irritates people. Here is where I plug the fictional reference of Albert Camus's The Stranger in. Specifically, when Meursault decides to shoot a man on the beach, largely on account of the excessive heat. Granted part of that is meant to be absurdist but I, for one, find it steeped in reality.
In me, hot weather doesn't inspire the desire to do physical harm to others, it inspires the desire to wear very little clothing, drink cold beer, and eat ice cream. That's as crazy as I get I guess.
On the topic of hot [sauce] I briefly contemplated, at the behest of a couple of chums, the Taco Bell equivalent of Super Size Me. I do eat there once or twice a week, but once or twice a day for month, though I think I could survive it, probably isn't the smartest idea. Not to say I haven't done many [more] stupid things in the past. Of course, if Taco Bell sponsored me to do it I might reconsider. Likewise if Keystone Light, Colt 45, or Jim Beam (I'd happily settle for Seagram's) offered sponsorship.
Anyway, shit, I'm real tired. Happy Memorial Day folks...
Evidence includes the increased number of shootings here in Chicago over Memorial Day weekend, when temperatures reached into the 90s. One simple factor could be people step out of their homes once it gets warm. Another could be that being overly hot irritates people. Here is where I plug the fictional reference of Albert Camus's The Stranger in. Specifically, when Meursault decides to shoot a man on the beach, largely on account of the excessive heat. Granted part of that is meant to be absurdist but I, for one, find it steeped in reality.
In me, hot weather doesn't inspire the desire to do physical harm to others, it inspires the desire to wear very little clothing, drink cold beer, and eat ice cream. That's as crazy as I get I guess.
On the topic of hot [sauce] I briefly contemplated, at the behest of a couple of chums, the Taco Bell equivalent of Super Size Me. I do eat there once or twice a week, but once or twice a day for month, though I think I could survive it, probably isn't the smartest idea. Not to say I haven't done many [more] stupid things in the past. Of course, if Taco Bell sponsored me to do it I might reconsider. Likewise if Keystone Light, Colt 45, or Jim Beam (I'd happily settle for Seagram's) offered sponsorship.
Anyway, shit, I'm real tired. Happy Memorial Day folks...
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Los Suns
I am watching this Suns-Lakers game right now, and boy are these Suns likable. Sure I don't like the Lakers anyway, but seriously, hard not to love Steve Nash and the gang.
I should say was watching because I was paying close attention to the game and now it's pretty much resolved.
As I aim to hit my self-imposed quota on entries, I gotta say there's not a lot to say except to reaffirm my love for my alma mater, Wesleyan University. I certainly enjoyed my years there, but an action-packed seventy-two hours with the people I love really goes beyond compare. There's always the sense amongst older generations that things were better in their day, and while I might still try to contend that, there is still plenty of the wonderful energy of the Tech intact.
From tallying another deuce on the stall wall of beloved Olin Library to saying goodbye to MoCon, memories managed not to be tinged with sadness. Miller's Pond I love you, Wadsworth I love you. The only sadness was in realizing I don't get to see these amazing people more often. So this is basically another sincere thank you to Wesleyan for bringing together so many amazing people into one place. It's a privilege I wish I could bestow upon everyone.
I couldn't stop smiling the whole weekend and despite my extremely tired and depleted body, I'm still smiling now.
I should say was watching because I was paying close attention to the game and now it's pretty much resolved.
As I aim to hit my self-imposed quota on entries, I gotta say there's not a lot to say except to reaffirm my love for my alma mater, Wesleyan University. I certainly enjoyed my years there, but an action-packed seventy-two hours with the people I love really goes beyond compare. There's always the sense amongst older generations that things were better in their day, and while I might still try to contend that, there is still plenty of the wonderful energy of the Tech intact.
From tallying another deuce on the stall wall of beloved Olin Library to saying goodbye to MoCon, memories managed not to be tinged with sadness. Miller's Pond I love you, Wadsworth I love you. The only sadness was in realizing I don't get to see these amazing people more often. So this is basically another sincere thank you to Wesleyan for bringing together so many amazing people into one place. It's a privilege I wish I could bestow upon everyone.
I couldn't stop smiling the whole weekend and despite my extremely tired and depleted body, I'm still smiling now.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
F-word
I got an email the other day saying that sometimes the titles of my entries don't seem relevant to the content of my posts. I am tempted to say that, like the content of the entries themselves, they are largely irrelevant. I operate heavily on free association, so it can be confusing to follow how I get from A to B because I may frequently be going straight to C. It makes sense in my mind. Sometimes. For instance, last entry I titled "You Came in With the Breeze," and then proceeded to talk about Sunday morning. Those are, in fact, the lyrics, to a No Doubt song. Sometimes when I will look back at something I've written though, I do wonder where in the heckamadoodle it came from. So "F-word" is relevant in the sense that it's what I was listening to when I started writing this entry.
When you live a place, I think there can be a tendency to neglect a lot of the interesting places, judging them to be the touristy things to do. I hesitate to speak for all. I'm also pretty sure I've mentioned it before in this very blog. So it is that it's good when folks come to town to send you towards them. This past Saturday, that place was the Lincoln Park Zoo. Now, granted the weather hadn't been exactly tip-top, but nor was it this day and it did not matter. First stop, though, was the Lincoln Park Conservatory. Nature is a good thing, and the swampy atmosphere of the entryroom made this patron long for a little stint of jungle living. It works especially well when you move onto the flower room where the air is much cooler and less humid and imbued with the tasty scent of, well, flowers.
Having started strong, things really came together at the zoo. First of all, both of these venues are free of charge. Next you've got yourself lions, tigers, and...no bears that I saw. To see a seven year-old (estimate) girl and her five year-old (also estimate) brother giggle at seeing the male lion's testicles is the kind of thing that can make you feel good about life. For me, it really came together in the primate wing. I seem to like that phrase "came together." I was more sure than ever of my brotherhod with the monkey masses, where the first group of little fellows were huddled together and had mohawk hairstyles, just as I do at the moment. They're cooler than me. Not all of evolution is a step forward. Some acrobatic apes and the imposing silverback gorilla add that much more. Often I am quite anal about getting in a run first thing to start my booze-recovered weekend mornings, but to step away from that structure and embrace the simplest and most satisfying of things was the right move.
In the vein of the amazing acrobatic motion of the apes whose name escapes me, I found myself watching a bunch of breakdancing videos for not-the-first time the other night. Some of these talented individuals have been brought into the mainstream as in this Ikea commercial. Likewise, this digital alteration of Fred Astaire with David Elsewhere's legs is quite enjoyable.
Also enjoyable is the Starz series about actor-waiters in the catering business entitled "Party Down." It should induce laughter.
That appears to have gotten long in a hurry. Such is my nature. I apologize. I'll end it, then, on a somber note, about the man who once photographed many of my high school cross country meets. You are entitled to think all of life is kittens, but don't forget that they may scratch.
When you live a place, I think there can be a tendency to neglect a lot of the interesting places, judging them to be the touristy things to do. I hesitate to speak for all. I'm also pretty sure I've mentioned it before in this very blog. So it is that it's good when folks come to town to send you towards them. This past Saturday, that place was the Lincoln Park Zoo. Now, granted the weather hadn't been exactly tip-top, but nor was it this day and it did not matter. First stop, though, was the Lincoln Park Conservatory. Nature is a good thing, and the swampy atmosphere of the entryroom made this patron long for a little stint of jungle living. It works especially well when you move onto the flower room where the air is much cooler and less humid and imbued with the tasty scent of, well, flowers.
Having started strong, things really came together at the zoo. First of all, both of these venues are free of charge. Next you've got yourself lions, tigers, and...no bears that I saw. To see a seven year-old (estimate) girl and her five year-old (also estimate) brother giggle at seeing the male lion's testicles is the kind of thing that can make you feel good about life. For me, it really came together in the primate wing. I seem to like that phrase "came together." I was more sure than ever of my brotherhod with the monkey masses, where the first group of little fellows were huddled together and had mohawk hairstyles, just as I do at the moment. They're cooler than me. Not all of evolution is a step forward. Some acrobatic apes and the imposing silverback gorilla add that much more. Often I am quite anal about getting in a run first thing to start my booze-recovered weekend mornings, but to step away from that structure and embrace the simplest and most satisfying of things was the right move.
In the vein of the amazing acrobatic motion of the apes whose name escapes me, I found myself watching a bunch of breakdancing videos for not-the-first time the other night. Some of these talented individuals have been brought into the mainstream as in this Ikea commercial. Likewise, this digital alteration of Fred Astaire with David Elsewhere's legs is quite enjoyable.
Also enjoyable is the Starz series about actor-waiters in the catering business entitled "Party Down." It should induce laughter.
That appears to have gotten long in a hurry. Such is my nature. I apologize. I'll end it, then, on a somber note, about the man who once photographed many of my high school cross country meets. You are entitled to think all of life is kittens, but don't forget that they may scratch.
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